Into the Void
by idrawedyouaduck
Summary: An upstart Salarian Specter and a vicious Quarian tech pirate cross paths in a dangerous galactic-wide adventure of espionage, impossible odds and the the looming threat of annihilation. Odd chapters written by me, even chapters written by Ulquiorra9000.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay sat comfortably in the specially-made Quarian armchair the owners of the Dolzoi Hotel provided her. Her legs were crossed and her chest rose and fell with each breath as she casually scrolled through a list of cargo manifest receipts on holopad. The hotel room she was in was especially outfitted for Quarian guests as it was a sterilized and immaculately filtered "clean room." Frema'Zeeg scrolled through to the last receipt and shifted when her pale eyes glanced over its contents.

The orange glow of the holopad couldn't hide the sneer of anger on her unmasked face as she read the payout for her most recent salvage operation. The four-digit readout lay there, still and emotionless but she could swear it was mocking her. Or, the man who authorized the payment was mocking her.

"That bosh'tet," she hissed.

She felt around on the table next to her chair for some more of the purified Turian cuisine she couldn't afford but ate anyway. She hated the disgusting paste her people ate on the Migrant Fleet and she was happy to be rid of it. After grabbing some and downing it, she scrolled back up towards the top of the page to read the manifest titles. The name of the shipping executive made her narrow her eyes in increased anger.

"Dolin Hon," she said through semi-clenched teeth. "All right, Volus. We'll play."

She got up and moved to the bed where her mask, pistol, and other gear sat. She set the pistol gently into her hidden waist holster underneath one of her bags, then hefted the nearly-opaque violet mask and clicked it into place on her helmet. Her envirosuit pressurized with a tiny hiss and she felt the cooling sensation of 100% sterile air flood over her face and neck. It was calming, and for a second she almost forgot she had been ripped off. She sniffled slightly; even in a clean room she would probably get a minor infection from having her mask off.

She pulled the silver cloth hood up over her helmet and made a quick walk towards the door. When it whirred open, she found herself in the clean room's sterilization airlock. She waited rather impatiently for it to scan her and when the doors opened she practically skipped out into the hallway. A quick jog to the lobby led her outside to the open air garage and into the glorious Illium skyline. From here, she spotted her parked skiff. She hopped in and jetted off at top speed for the hangar that Hon Shipping and Transportation moved her salvage for half the usual rate.

The hangar and the dockyards outside of it bustled with activity. Turian, Human, and Krogan workers operated cranes and lifts to move boxes from ships into and out of the warehouses next to the hangar. Frema'Zeeg parked her skiff close to the hangar and set out to find Dolin. He was easy to spot as he was clearly the shortest and the only one not doing any work.

Frema'Zeeg rolled her shoulders forward and her face tilted down in anger and she trudged over to him. One of his assistants pointed her out and he looked over her way.

"Ah! Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay, was it? It's good to see you, though I believe our business is concluded..."

"Where is the rest of my money, Dolin?" she demanded.

"I beg your pardon? Were the receipts not with the extra copies of the manifest I gave you?"

She stopped next to him in a huff. Even though she was short for most other races, to a Volus like Dolin, she was towering. She tried the best she could to appear intimidating.

"4,420, Dolin? Those credits are less than half what they should be. That's six tons of scrap I gave you plus the drive core," she explained hotly. "That makes ten point oh five."

Dolin looked around himself quickly and waved his arms for her to be quiet. "I am a legitimate businessman, remember? Keep your voice down! I already told you I took my ten percent and tacked on a little extra for insurance purposes."

"I thought 'tacked on' meant a few hundred credits, not another forty percent. Just who do you take me for?" Frema'Zeeg said angrily in hushed whispers. Her voice modulator made her voice hum in a slightly sinister way when she whispered.

"I took you for a smart trader, but clearly I was mistaken. The cut is taken and the deal completed. You don't like it, take it up with the authorities. We're done here." The Volus pulled up his holopad and stalked off.

Frema'Zeeg huffed in frustration before looking around the hangar. She spotted Dolin's personal ship and she got a wicked idea. She crept toward it, careful not to be spotted by Dolin or his crew.

"I think I've overstayed my welcome here anyhow," she smirked as she made her way closer to the ship. It was a small one. Its drive core could handle Mass Relay jumps, but for the most part it was a ten-person, point A to point B ship. Best of all, it only required one pilot.

The one person she didn't need was the hardcase Asari pilot that was still somehow on board when Frema'Zeeg got there.

"What are you doing here, Quarian? You shouldn't be here," she said angrily as Frema'Zeeg tried to approach the outer door.

"Oh, hello, miss. Dolin told me to fix a broken circuit board in the life support compartment. I couldn't find it so I decided to have a look inside to find an internal panel." Frema put on her most innocent, high-pitched voice.

The Asari crossed her arms. "Dolin doesn't handle hiring mechanics himself. He asks me to do that. And I sure didn't ask you. Now get lost, ship thief, before I call security."

Frema'Zeeg just backed off and returned to her skiff. She furrowed her brow in frustration but couldn't think of a good plan. She kept thinking even as she got in and took off towards, wherever direction she was heading.

"Think, Frema," she cursed herself, "Need a distraction to get that pilot gone. Think."

As she flew low to the ground she passed by some districts that were farther away from the Nos Astra downtown and more reminded her of Omega. She finally got the inspiration she needed when she saw a pair of Krogan thugs roughing up a Turian. She landed close by and regarded them in a friendly way.

"Hey, boys," she hollered until they got the message. "Want to make some credits?"

One of the thugs walked over to her while the other was still manhandling the Turian. "A Quarian? Hmm, what are you doing in this part of town little'un?" He put his scaled head a little too close to Frema's.

Frema eased back and cleared her throat. "I've got a thousand credits for you if you can pilot that skiff over there to a friend of mine in the Hon dockyards."

"Why can't you do it?" he asked suspiciously. The Turian let out a yelp as he got punched in the stomach.

"Well, he isn't exactly a friend of mine. I owe him money and he'll kill me if he sees me first," she said while idly stroking the side of his massive neck, trying her best to be sultry.

"Hmph," he gruffed. "Two thousand credits. And I want half now."

"Completely fair!" she agreed. She booted up her omni tool and used local sharing to transfer the thousand credits to his account. She made sure to barely touch his arm and left a tiny metal disc, about the size of a bead, on his armor.

"Hey, Gurnk! I'll be back in a minute I just got a payday!" he yelled back to his friend.

They both climbed into the skiff, quite uncomfortably, and flew off towards the dockyards. The Krogan was driving and Frema'Zeeg did her best to not touch him from the side seat.

"So what's your name, darlin'?" he leered at her.

"Oh, well, you wouldn't care," she said, acting nervous.

"Oh, but I would care. My name is Donk," he said, smiling at her.

"Donk, huh?" she said, looking out the window, "I don't care. Look, there he is!" Frema pointed out the window. "The Volus with the holopad. Can you set me off over there so I can be out of sight?"

The Krogan set her down and reminded her of their agreement. "Don't forget that other thousand, Quarian. You saw what me and my friend do to people who don't pay," he said menacingly as he lifted off.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it!" Frema waved at him.

Frema hid by Dolin's ship, far enough away to avoid the pilot and watched from across the lanes as the Krogan set the skiff down next to Dolin. She waited until he got out and started talking to the Volus, then activated her omni tool and remotely hacked into the Krogan's omni tool. His confused face appeared on her screen and she regarded him warmly.

"Yeah, that was all a ruse. I went ahead and relieved you of my thousand credits and everything else in your account. Oh and Dolin? I know you can hear me. Bad move on your part. Greetings from Hell. Sincerely, Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay."

She shut the screen off and hit a button on her readout which heralded a near-sudden explosion that shook the ground. A column of blue fire and smoke swallowed her skiff and Dolin in flames. The device she planted in the stolen skiff went off perfectly and detonated the engine with the touch of a button. And, on cue, the Asari pilot rushed out of the ship to investigate the noise and immediately darted off to check on her boss.

Frema'Zeeg casually strolled into the ship and made her way to the cockpit. She fiddled with the controls and made an easy going getaway before the security and fire teams even managed to get there. As she left the atmosphere of Illium she couldn't help feeling delighted. She checked the credits she took from the Krogan, a mere twenty-three hundred plus her thousand. It was enough to soften the loss of the exchange with Dolin, but the explosion and shocked look on the Krogan's face was worth the hassle.

Frema set a course for the Mass Relay in this system and plotted a course of jumps and feuling stations to get her to Omega. She wistfully remembered her previous jobs as she reclined in the captain's chair. Pirates, waylay ships, take salvage, betray pirates, sell salvage, find pirates again... Time to do it all over. Why stop if she'll never get caught?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_The target is here. Yes, definitely in this area. Don't lose him now!_

Zeldo Kariss, the council's youngest Salarian Spectre agent, strode through the evening streets on yet another crummy world in the Terminus Systems. Known only as "Zeta 24-B," its cities bustled with smugglers, slaver rings, escaped criminals, and prostitutes. Many people referred to worlds like this as an "Omega away from Omega," a twist on the Human phrase "home away from home."

He pitied anyone who called Omega home.

The Salarian swallowed tightly and felt his heart race in his chest. For days, he and his Turian mentor had swept this filthy city, and finally, the human known as Mark Evans had been found, having fled Council space weeks ago. Wanted for repeated offenses of kidnapping and smuggling Red Sand, the council had finally sent Zeldo after him after he tried to hack secure computer systems on the Citadel. Before, the man had been just another scumbag. But now, during the Reaper invasion war, anyone who committed a crime on the Citadel warranted a Spectre's attention. Mark Evans was wanted dead or alive. And Zeldo always liked having multiple options.

And as the rookie Spectre in need of in-field experience, he had been handed the job.

"See him yet?" came a voice on Zeldo's earpiece. It was Davi Cestello, a fellow Turian Spectre, and Zeldo's mentor. He had driven him here and sat parked in the city limits.

He sighed impatiently. "No, not yet. But I'm close. Trust me."

"This is only your second mission, agent Kariss," Davi reminded him sternly. "You haven't even broken your training wheels yet."

"You sure like human phrases, don't you?"

"Yeah. I love them. Now hurry up and get a positive ID."

"Copy that. Agent Kariss out." he rolled his large, dark eyes as he walked further down the city's main street. _One of these days, he'll recognize me as a peer and call me Zeldo! Not yet, unfortunately._

All around, he saw crowds of Humans, Turians, Batarians, and Asari, most with a pistol or knife at their belts, and all with a guarded expression. Neon signs advertised strip clubs and drug dens, while wheeled vendors offered hot, sizzling food to passerbys. In the sky, rusty hovercars roared past, and above them, the dark, cloudy sky threatened rain. He could already hear occasional thunder over the city noise.

A large luxury yacht hovered by far overhead, its spotlights sweeping the city at random. No doubt that some rich slimebag was up there, wealthy from all kinds of criminal enterprises. It made his blood boil; in these dark times, how could anyone turn on their fellows for profit? It was the end of days! Reapers scoured the galaxy, and people like this still invested in dirty deeds. Did no one stand for justice anymore? Well, at least Zeldo did!

"Hey, sugar! Looking for a good time?" An Asari prostitute stood at a street corner nearby, waving to Zeldo with a well-practiced smile.

He shook his head as he felt a raindrop hit it. "Sorry. Council business."

The Asari's face fell. "Oh." She shrank back, as though fearing arrest.

_You're beneath my notice. Relax,_ he thought, brushing past the Asari. Back home in Council space, some had considered him fairly attractive, with healthy, frog-green skin and "deep" eyes, as a girl had once described them. But to Zeldo, he considered himself more of a monk, dedicated to justice and order and destroying evil wherever he found it. Some considred him naive; he considered himself part of a dying but noble breed.

The occasional raindrops became a light drizzle, and Zeldo heard another rumble of thunder as nearby people took out their umbrellas. I won't be able to see in heavy rain. _Got to hurry. Come on, Mark Evans, where are you?_

A chattering crowd of Batarians walked past, and when they cleared, Zeldo spotted him at last. He knew the Human's lean, angular face from the case file, right down to his stud earrings and small tuft of beard. He wore light, cheap armor and chatted with what looked like a bodyguard.

Eagerly, Zeldo crept closer, trying not to draw attention to himself. He wore white, brand-new armor with black highlights and a utility belt (complete with medi-gel packets), but he didn't stand out as much as one would think; plenty of well-armored thugs wandered these streets. The rain slowly grew heavier as he approached, praying that he didn't spook the target.

After a few seconds of talk, Mark Evans and his friend set off toward an unassuming warehouse nearby. Zeldo followed, trying to hide behind larger people whenever possible. He checked his gear as he went, wondering how to do this. At his belt he holstered a high-quality Stinger pistol, two combat knives, and a dart thrower. Once, he had taken out an armored Krogan with a well-placed dart to the neck. The Krogan's heavy shotgun hadn't mattered much when the poison had taken effect.

Today, though, Zeldo thought he'd save the pistol as a last resort. Its noise would attract all kinds of attention that he didn't want, so poison and fists would do for today. Zeldo was no master, but he prided himself in his martial arts training; a combination of Turian CQC (close-quarters combat) and traditional Asari martial stances. Davi Cestello preffered carbines and rifles, but Zeldo liked to keep things simple. Fists didn't run out of ammo.

Just as lightning started to flash overhead, he got what he wanted: Mark Evans and his friend swung open the warehouse's front door and walked in. _Maybe to meet someone for a deal? Or maybe review inventory? Let's see._ So, Zeldo made sure that no one was watching him, and climbed a stack of crates to reach a window. He hopped inside.

The place was dark and cool, and he smelled rust and oil stains everywhere. Only half the lights were on, creating deep shadows. Well, no matter. He crept past asiles of crates and parked forklifts and followed the sound of the men's voices. It sounded like they were now meeting another person, based on a new deep voice.

Zeldo unclasped his pistol-sized dart thrower and clenched it tightly as he approached the unsuspecting party. He rounded a corner and saw Mark Evans meeting a taller, dark-skinned human with a bald head and an expensive suit. He had two bodyguards armed with pistols. _So, a business meeting! Sorry, boys, but the meeting's cancelled today._

For just a moment, Zeldo hesitated. The bigger human might be Mark Evans' boss, or a middle man for an even greater crime lord. Should he be captured? Then again, that would be tricky, and so many criminals lived here, it would make little difference in the long run. Mark was who mattered right now. It was decided.

With one bold move, Zeldo stepped into the open, lined up his crosshairs, and fired. With a click, a dart flashed through the air, but Mark Evans moved at the last possible second. One of the three bodyguards flinched as the dart hit his shoulder, and a second later, he collapsed, unconscious.

Zeldo hastily loaded a new dart, heart hammering in his chest. _Missed!_

"Get him!" Mark shouted, pointing. He and the other Humans drew their pistols and fired.

_Pow! Pow! Pow!_ Light flashed from the pistols' muzzles and deafening booms bounced off the walls' confines. He winced and shrank behind cover, and he heard the pistol rounds punch through a metal crate. He'd have to find another way around to get a good position, but where? His eyes drifted to a dark corner, and he hurried over.

"He's over here!" Mark called. He, and apparently the other three men followed Zeldo's footsteps and rounded the corner, while the Salarian crouched in the dark corner. Zeldo's dart thrower had been holstered, and he now held a knife in his left hand.

Warily, the bodyguards led the party, their eyes scanning the whole place. Then, Zeldo sprang from cover and swiped his knife through the air. Red blood spurted as the blade sliced into the first Human's exposed neck.

_Yes!_ He shoved the bleeding man aside and quickly delivered a heavy punch to the other bodyguard. Air whooshed from the man's lungs and he was helpless as Zeldo knocked him out with a blow to the temple.

Then, he whirled to face Mark Evans and his tall business partner. Quickly, he darted side to side and snapped out a kick, knocking Mark's pistol from his hands.

"Bad idea, friend." With surprising speed, Mark's fist collided with Zeldo's temple in a vicious uppercut, and Zeldo stumbled back, stunned.

The bigger Human leveled his pistol and fired another deafening shot, but the shot went wide and Zeldo dropped into a crouch to lower his center of gravity. With a cry, he pounced and threw two quick punches, aiming right for Mark's face.

Mark blocked one blow and knocked the other aside, countering with a quick jab. Zeldo spun around to dodge, then swept his foot at Mark's shin. It worked; the Human toppled, but not before he seized Zeldo's arm and tugged.

He wrenched his arm free, but not before the taller Human took his chance to fire again. Pain exploded in his chest as the shot punched through his armor and dented a rib, and a ringing filled his ears. _Got... to... focus..._

Mark was back on his feet and caught Zeldo with another punch to the face, and he saw his vision flicker. He heard his knife clatter to the floor, dropped from his pain-numbed fingers. _Damn it! He's tougher than I expected._

Sheer adrenaline flooded Zeldo's brain as he dimly saw Mark drew back his fist for another blow. His Spectre training kicking in, the Salarian launched himself at Mark and swung his right fist upward. His knuckles smashed into Mark's jaw and the Human jerked back, stunned. His fist lowered for just a second.

Zeldo heard the Humans shouting to each other, but in his haze of pain and rage, he didn't take in a word. Instead, he bared his teeth and threw another punch. This time, Mark bashed the fist aside with an aggressive block and swung at Zeldo's face again.

Just in time, he ducked the punch and connected with a heavy blow to the stomach. Mark grunted, then seized Zeldo and grappled with him, trying to expose him to the other Human for a killing shot. Desperate, his booted feet scuffing on the floor, he placed Mark between him and the other Human, then shoved with all his might. Mark fell back for just a second, colliding with his fellow.

_Now!_ He swooped down and picked up the fallen bodyguard's pistol, then aimed and fired. The shot slammed into the taller Human's shoulder, and the man shrieked and dropped his gun.

There was no helping it; Zeldo knew that killing the men was his only chance to get out of here alive, at the cost of a chance to question them. Grimly, Zeldo snapped off a few more shots, riddling both men with micro-bullets. Mark and the bigger man convulsed, blood seeping from their chests. Then, they finally went limp.

Zeldo double-checked that the men were dead, then collected his fallen knife and wearily sat on a small crate. He trembled in his armor and blinked a few times to clear his vision. With a shaking hand, Zeldo radioed in to Davi. "Target neutralized. Killed a business partner of his, and all their guards. Sustained bullet wound to the chest."

Zeldo heard a hiss as Davi sighed into the comm. "Damn it, agent Kariss. You can't take on one petty criminal without taking a shot? Mark Evans was near the bottom of the council's wanted list, you know. I trained you for better."

"I'll patch myself up. Anyway, he's dead, so mission complete," Zeldo bristled. It seemed like Davi would never be impressed.

"Fine. Get to the public spaceport and I'll pick you up. Interesting timing; a new mission came up for you. Higher priority than your current op." His voice grew colder. "Try not to get yourself killed in this next one, okay?"

Zeldo rolled his eyes, still huffing from exhaustion. "Yeah? What is it?"

"Council's looking for loose talent to round up for the Reaper war," Davi said flatly. "Techs, mercenaries, spies, computer experts, everything. Spectres are out looking for them now, and you've been assigned to find a Quarian rogue. Expert on mechanics and salvage."

"Really. This Quarian have a name?"

"Sure does. Frema'Zeeg, and she's a spunky one, according to the dossier. Talk her into joining the council's talent pool."

Zeldo huffed. "I go from man-hunts to recruitment? How does that happen?"

"Don't ask me. It's above my pay grade."

"Wonderful."

"Her most recent activity included a scuffle at a Volus' dockyard on Illium. She's believed to be flying to Omega on a stolen ship."

"Omega?"

"Got a problem with that, agent Kariss?"

"I was just wondering when I'd finally get to visit a _pleasant_ world."

"There ain't any out here in the Terminus Systems, kid. See you soon."

Zeldo made a face. "Copy that. Agent Kariss out."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Stepping onto one of the seedy Omega docks felt like an assault on the very idea of safety and comfort. Frema'Zeeg hated Omega but loved it all the same; finding a sense of home in the vibrant underbelly of galactic crime. She loved the pulse of its danger and the hum of its flamboyant energy. She also hated the grimy lives of the commoners and the dirty and decrepit facilities that added all the charm to Omega.

The station was quite calm since her arrival. Having only been in Omega for an hour, she had noticed the scarcity of its inhabitants. What were once crowded streets and corridors were now only briefly haunted by groups of grim-staring nobodies who always stared her up and down.

'Reapers,' Frema'Zeeg thought grimly. 'Must be running everyone out of here. I should find a new crew and head out. Maybe scan the Terminus systems for border colonies.'

She had walked from the docks, where she sold her stolen ship for parts, then proceeded to the main level of Omega where Aria T'loak's club rested. Frema avoided the place. Too many shifty characters in all directions, and bigger fish that she didn't want to attract the attention of. On that level, the apartments reserved for "special guests" could be found. Being a special guest in Omega usually meant that you have done something for Aria that made you important enough to keep on retainer. As for Frema, that happened to be keeping the place running and modifying machines to fit Aria's needs. She could repair circles around the other goons on Aria's payroll who lived in those apartments. It was there that she rested and regrouped from her endeavors.

After only two days on the station, Frema received a message from a familiar Turian voice.

"Meet me in your favorite place this afternoon," the message crackled with a little static.

She closed the message grimly and then sighed loudly. It was a quick walk to the bar on the level beneath the main one. She enjoyed drinking there since the Turian liquors were usually cleaner than the other places on the station. It made for good relaxing when there was a break in business. Business, though, seemed to catch up soon, and when her friend spotted her, Frema was aware that life was going back down the usual route.

"Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay," came the gravely Turian voice. "I know I asked you to come, but I thought you'd be smarter not to show your face-mask around here."

"Arrun Karas." She waved a hand dismissively as she sat at an empty table by the bar. "It's a different color."

"Cut the crap," he snarled, sitting down opposite her. "It's dangerous for you to be here. I owe you a favor but that's just the one. After the last crew that went missing after a raid with you, people around here are starting to think you're cursed, bad luck, or worse, C-Sec. I risk my neck even talking to you in public."

"Be that as it may, Arrun, you wouldn't have called me if it wasn't important." She crossed her arms and leaned forward in her seat. "What do you have for me?"

"This makes us square," Arrun remarked, using another of his favorite human slang terms. "It seems like you have attracted some trouble that would follow you all the way to Omega."

Frema sat up and uncrossed her arms, "C-Sec?"

"Worse," he said grimly. "It seems your galactic antics have warranted the investigation by a Specter."

The Quarian rogue swallowed hard at the statement. A Specter is bad news. But a Specter that would travel all the way to the heart of darkness itself? This couldn't be real.

"How'd you find out?" Frema asked after a few moments' pause.

"He's a rookie, I think," he said, shaking his head dismissively. "Some friends of mine told me this guy was actually just plain asking around for you. By name. My guys didn't say anything to him, but they told me right away."

Frema considered her options. After a minute or so of calculation she spoke up again. "This was a nice gesture, Arrun. I know you didn't do it to be my friend, though." She smirked under her mask.

"Not a chance," he said, shaking his head angrily. "Are we square?"

"We're square," she said, waving her hand dismissively at him. "Did you happen to catch his name or know anything about him?"

"I didn't ask." He got up from the table and turned to walk away.

"Take care of yourself, Frema'Zeeg," he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

She took a few minutes of silence to consider her options before doing anything. She liked the little bit of privacy she got from her mask. She could sit there and pretend she was alone and in the quiet without worrying about anything so she could sit and think in peace. After a few minutes of solid thought, Frema ordered a drink.

After drinking her beverage and feeling bolder, likely from the alcohol, Frema'Zeeg decided on a plan that even she thought was crazy. It took her only a few minutes to reach the residents hold in the lower sections of Omega. The Reaper invasion scared a lot of people away, so it was pretty empty aside from those too poor to leave.

One such group too poor to leave were the handful of Quarian squatters away on Pilgrimage. She'd run into them from time to time and they would sometimes ask her how she was making it so successfully on Omega. She always just laughed at them and kept walking. Now, though, she tracked down a female she had seen around the engine rooms to ask her to put on a little show.

"You want me to do what?!" the annoyed Quarian girl piped.

"I need you to pose as me and talk to a Specter who has been asking around for me," Frema said again, impatiently.

"No way! If a Specter is looking for you, I'll have no part of it," she responded hotly. "It's bad enough you leave your kin to starve and die without helping them home, but you also live in the lap of luxury as a criminal! I'd rather die than help you!"

"That could be arranged, you know," Frema said, drawing her pistol and aiming it lazily up at the Quarian's chin.

"Go ahead and shoot me, bosh'tet. I hate you!" she practically screamed.

Frema reconsidered her words, but kept the pistol where it was. "What is your name?" she asked her.

"What do you care?" the Quarian asked bitterly.

"Because we Quarians are family and sometimes family strays from the course. I am asking for your help because I know and you know I have no one else," she said as softly as she could bear.

The Quarian woman seemed to loosen up a little, "Dala'Fring... nar Idenna."

"Dala," Frema'Zeeg repeated wistfully. "All I am asking is for you to talk to him and pretend to be me to get him to release some information. If he tries to arrest you, just tell the truth; that you are an imposter and you were asked to pose as me by me at gunpoint. He'll let you go and then you never have to see me again."

"I hope I never do," Dala'Fring said bitterly. "But, this is for kin and family, so I will help you this once."

Frema nodded and proceeded to fill Dala on any details the Specter might wonder about without giving too much away to incriminate herself. With the information equipped, Frema'Zeeg paid off a local info-dealer to find where the Specter had gone to.

Much to her wallet's disappointment, he was on the main level in front of Aria's club covorting around like he owned the place, fully suited in expensive white armor. If she had simply gone looking herself, she would have found him in no time. Frema'Zeeg hid herself out of sight as she sent her decoy out on her mission.

"Keelah se'lai," Frema said comfortingly.

"Bosh'tet," Dala'Fring retorted, rolling her eyes and walking out into public.

She walked over to the Salarian Specter with some subtlety, making sure to pretend like she was being hunted by this man. The Specter spotted her quick and closed the distance before talking to her. Frema listened to their conversation by way of the comm unit on Dala's helmet.

"Are you Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay?" he asked quickly in his sharp, fast voice.

"Yes," Dala said nervously. "I heard you were looking for me. Who are you, anyways?"

"My name is Agent Zeldo Kariss. I'm a Specter from the Citadel. I've been tasked with finding you and bringing you in."

"Are you arresting me, Agent Kariss?" Dala asked, crossing her arms.

"Ask him who gave the orders," Frema whispered.

Dala's pale blue face-mask reflected the lights from the street as she listened to her headset. "And furthermore, who even sent you to collect me? Was it the Council?"

"That will all be explained when you come with me. You are not under arrest, though you are considered a galactic criminal and I have been authorized to take you with me by force if you resist." Abruptly, his hand lunged out.

Frema'Zeeg watched from down the street as Zeldo grabbed one of Dala's arms. She struggled, but meekly followed along while still trying to talk to him frantically.

"No, no you don't understand. I am not who I say I am! My name is Dala'Fring nar Idenna! I was held at gunpoint by the real Frema'Zeeg to pose as her double! Please do not take me away!"

Zeldo stopped and pondered this, wrinkling his green brow as he frowned. He then stepped back with Dala, who was too scared to move. He put a hand to his comm unit on his neck and talked into it.

Frema could only hear static through the relay on Dala's helmet. The Specter agent then activated his omni-tool, scanned the Quarian in front of him, and then pulled up a file. Frema couldn't see it, but she probably guessed it was a comparison picture.

Zeldo then walked back over to Dala and spoke to Frema directly.

"I know you can hear me. Clever ruse, Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay. I would have rather been ordered to see that justice is done, but my assignment is to take you alive. I will find you. All ships leaving Omega are being scanned. You have nowhere to hide."

Frema ground her teeth together. She felt trapped again. She hated that feeling more than any other. She thought for a moment then came up with a new plan. The safe plan. The subtle plan.

She said what she wanted to say through the headset to which Dala relayed dutifully.

"She says," Dala began, "Come find me."

Frema'Zeeg paced around her apartment frantically.

'I can't believe this,' she thought, 'How could the Specters send one of their agents to collect me? What, do they need a panel rewired? Do they need a Reaper ship salvaged? What do they want with me? I'm just a tech and salvage thief. Not even a very lucrative one! I'm close to broke. What could this mean?'

For a moment she had even considered turning herself in to see where things would go. Maybe the Specters needed help against the Reaper threat? But even at that her talents were shared by most all Quarians, even those on the right side of the law. What could they possibly want with her?

She knew that if she made a break for it and tried to leave, the Specter's would detect her and chase her down. She didn't have the resources or the manpower to fight them. That left only one option: deception. She had showed a part of her hand with the decoy. She showed this Salarian agent Kariss that she could be slippery. She needed to use that but do something bolder to put him on tilt.

She briefly considered on fighting him herself, but then thought better of it. Even if he was a rookie, she didn't have the martial prowess to take him in a head-on fight, and they both likely knew it. She needed someone who was strong, dumb, and hated Salarians. Just then, she got a wicked idea. A smile crossed her face.

"I should start breeding Krogans to do my dirty work," Frema thought evilly. "They are so helpful most of the time."

When she got to one of the Blood Pack hangouts, she quietly hired the help of two Krogan thugs to waylay the Salarian hunting her. Or at least, that was the plan, until they refused.

"A Salarian hunting a Quarian?" one asked. "You must mean the Specter we've heard about. Been asking around for a Quarian machinist. That'd be you, I take it?"

"Look, guys, so what if he's a Specter? You can't honestly tell me you're afraid of him," she cajoled chidingly.

"We aren't afraid!" the other said defensively. "Aria let the word out that Specters are off-limits to rough-stuff. No one wants to attract too much attention from the Citadel, especially now that the Reapers have shown up."

'Time to rattle their cages a little,' she thought.

"Oh come on, I know you're scared. Big bad Krogan men like you, lost your quads when the Salarians neutered you and your women left you both for some virile Turian specimens in Council space. I get it. Why not go get a little revenge?"

The snarled at her angrily, but the mission was accomplished. She even haggled them down on the price from how furious they got. She stalked off gleefully as the Krogans rushed away to spring their trap on the unsuspecting rookie Specter.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The muffled, thrumming club music in Afterlife faded away as Zeldo stalked deeper into Omega. His mind whirled rapidly, trying to a find a solution for this increasing mess. The Quarian known as Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay proved to be both slippery and clever, and Zeldo realized grimly that Davi Cestello had chosen this assignment specifically to challenge him. Well, it was sure as hell working!

Zeldo wrinkled his nose in disgust as he went; the whole space station stank of rust, garbage, unwashed people, and most of all, fear. What he wouldn't give for a breathing mask. "This is agent Kariss. Come in," Zeldo spoke into his comm.

Davi's voice came in a second later. "Go ahead, agent Kariss." A little static distorted his voice.

"Target got away. Used a decoy. Probably a friend who owed her a favor."

"Then get a little exercise and find her."

"I plan to. But I'm going to need the technical readout of this place. It's a gods-damned maze in here."

From here, Zeldo heard the click of keys on his comm as Davi typed into his ship's computers. Right now, the Turian Specter hovered close to Omega in an Asari-built cruise ship, courtesy of the council. Two people could comfortably sit inside and carry all their gear, and they could even cram a YMIR-class 'mech in there. Not that Zeldo or Davi needed those things.

Finally: "Incomplete results," came Davi's voice. "There's all kinds of interference coming from that station, and some of it is intentional."

"Come again?"

"Local crime lords must have set up devices to block scans," Davi figured. "To keep people like us from tracking down targets too easily. Remember, Omega is a place where folks go to hide."

"I know that. Unfortunately."

"Well, I did get some bits and pieces. I'm sending them to your omni-tool in a compressed file," Davi sighed. "You'll just have to work from there. You're a big boy now. Find a way."

"Only you could pull off encouragement and condescension together like that."

"It's a gift. Agent Cestello out."

Zeldo rolled his eyes as he shut off his comm and picked up his pace. Agent Cestello was no doubt skilled, but his dry humor really got under Zeldo's skin sometimes. Still, the banter could brighten an otherwise dull or unpleasant op.

The stink of Omega got worse as Zeldo wandered ever deeper into the station, and before long, he could hear the deep, powerful hum of unseen generators and the babble of distant crowds in residential areas. The main hallways were a bit more sparse than Zeldo expected, but that was just fine; it let him explore this horrible place faster.

And Davi was quite right; unlike the orderly Citadel, Omega had been built layer by layer by contractors who clearly hadn't coordinated. Tunnels and pathways turned and twisted erratically, often coming to sudden dead ends or looping around themselves. Seemingly-distant sections could be bridged conveniently, or adjacent areas had no easy connection at all. One minute, Zeldo was on the main road; the next, he found himself in a seedy (even by Omega standards) neighborhood. Stray Vorcha, Batarians, and Turians glared at him from the shadows.

_So, Frema'Zeeg. Any more tricks for me? Or will you come to your senses?_ For a minute, Zeldo wondered if he had come off too strong with Frema'Zeeg's doppleganger, but he chased those thoughts away. Force and will were the bedrock of this place, and this was nothing like a business meeting at the Council. Maybe this time he'd give the Quarian more of a tangible incentive. Credits? A ship of her own? A new set of power tools? Whatever the council allowed, really. Zeldo reached for his comm's activation button.

Heavy footsteps made Zeldo lower his hand, his heart suddenly racing. He stopped and whirled around, watching two burly Krogan approach with confident smirks on their blunt faces. Their armor marked them as Blood Pack warriors.

"Look what we got here," one Krogan gloated. He had two scars on his lip and a rusty-red tint to his forehead plates. "One juicy little Salarian."

"Poor guy's all alone with no friends," the other mocked. He had a blue-ish head plate and a piercing on his eyebrow.

Zeldo stiffened. "You boys want something?"

The red-plated Krogan glanced at his friend. "Just looking for an easy score," he said evasively. "With fancy armor like that, I bet you're loaded."

"I don't think so," Zeldo scoffed. "This seems too convenient. Someone hired you to corner me. Who? And to what end?"

The blue-plated Krogan chuckled. "Fine. You got us. A Quarian wants you out of her hair, and paid us good to kick you off this station."

"Do Quarians even have hair?" the red-plated Krogan blurted, frowning.

"Shut up, Blunk," the blue-plated Krogan snapped. He unclipped a submachine gun from his belt and slowly approached Zeldo. "Let's just get this done."

Blunk shrugged and hefted a battle-worn shotgun. "Sure. So, you want the drumsticks or breast meat?" he joked, aiming his shotgun at Zeldo's arms, legs, and chest in turn.

"How about his knees?" the blue-plated Krogan offered. His submachine gun drifted to Zeldo's knees, and the Salarian saw the Krogan's thick finger tighten on the trigger.

In a flash of motion, Zeldo twisted out of the way and leaped at the blue-plated Krogan. Adrenaline burned in his arms and legs, and he knew that he only had seconds to use it.

Submachine gun rounds rattled off the grimy floor, the muzzle flashing with deafening fire. Before the Krogan could fire another burst, Zeldo seized the submachine gun and wrenched it out of the Krogan's hands at a harsh angle.

The blue-plated Krogan blinked stupidly, then stared in shock as Zeldo stepped back with the weapon in hand. With one deft movement, Zeldo slid out the submachine gun's magazine and snapped it underfoot, rendering the weapon useless.

"Blunk, you idiot! Shoot him!" the blue-plated Krogan roared.

Quickly, Blunk brought up his shotgun and aimed at Zeldo's face. Only once again, the Salarian was already moving. This time, he drew a knife and hurled it expertly at his opponent's face. The sharp blade wedged itself in the thin line between Blunk's plate and his brow.

Blunk shrieked with pain and stumbled back, dropping his shotgun and clutching his bleeding face. Zeldo bound over and scooped up the shotgun, then, like with the submachine gun, slid out its ammo magazine and broke it.

Zeldo rounded on the blue-plated Krogan. "What kind of idiot announces where he's going to shoot?" He couldn't keep the contempt out of his voice.

The blue-plated Krogan snarled deeply in his throat. "Very funny, punk. I'll rip you apart!" And he charged.

Zeldo stepped aside and let the Krogan plow right into a wall. "You know," the Salarian commented, "I've been trained by Turian and Asari military experts, and even a Human. This Human had studied a 20th century fighting style known as Jeet Kune Do."

"So what?" the blue-plated Krogan snapped, turning around. His teeth were bared, his hands balled into fists.

"So, you'd really rather _not _get a hands-on demonstration."

"Raaaaaah!" Ignoring this, the Krogan charged, fists swinging.

Zeldo relaxed his body and dropped his stance slightly. He watched the Krogan's left fist arc through the air, then ducked the blow and snapped out a fist. His armored knuckles smashed into the Krogan's jaw, stunning him for just a split-second. Before the Krogan's other fist could connect with its target, Zeldo's other fist rapped hard on the Krogan's temple, and finally, his foot smashed into his opponent's knee.

Like Blunk, the blue-plated Krogan howled and backed up, his leg trembling. "Bastard!" he hissed.

"I've studied the anatomy of most major species," Zeldo commented. "I know where your weak spots are. Krogans are not indestructible."

And with that, Zeldo bounded forth and drew his other knife. He wedged it under the plate, like he had done with Blunk. The Krogan yelped and scrabbled his hands over the knife, desperate to pull it out.

But Zeldo had underestimated a Krogan's redundant nervous system. Too late, he realized that Blunk had recovered from the knife attack and had picked up his ruined shotgun. Zeldo whirled around to see Blunk, his face smeared with blood, his shotgun in hand like a club. The blunt instrument crashed into Zeldo's face like a freight train, and his vision went black.

*o*o*o*o*

"Damn it..."

Zeldo woke lying on his back, staring up at the rusty ceiling. The nearby street lights glared down at him, and from here, Zeldo could hear a few people walking by, muttering curious comments.

A throbbing pain wracked Zeldo's head, and he felt a big bump on his forehead, tender and raw. Wincing, he sat up and checked himself over. His stomach clenched; all his stuff was gone, from his weapons to his omni-tool. Even his headpiece comm had been taken.

_I was stupid. Didn't finish them off, _Zeldo scolded himself. Wearily, he got to his feet, grateful that he was left with his armor. No doubt that the Krogans had no use for it; how many Salarians could there be on this station who needed it? But still, he felt naked without his equipment, and even Davi was out of reach now. Zeldo had memorized the Turian's comm channel and its passcode, but that was of little use now. He'd have to start somewhere.

Zeldo took a few unsteady steps forward, then spotted a Human hanging out near an apartment's front steps. "Hey, you," Zeldo croaked.

The Human raised his eyebrows. "Yeah? What?"

Zeldo coughed. "I got robbed blind. How can I make some money around here?"

"Dunno," the Human shrugged. "What can you do?"

"I can fight."

"Without a gun?"

"I mean with fists. I've been trained as a martial artist."

The Human glanced around, thinking. "Not much," he admitted. "Unless... oh, yeah. Go down the street and take a right, and you'll find the fight club."

Zeldo was intrigued. "The what?"

"A haven for manly combat, as they call it," the Human grinned. "Folks get paid to put on a good fight. The best ones get a lot of bettors. Some even bought their way off this station."

"Then that's where I'll go." Zeldo took a deep breath and started down the street.

"Might wanna rethink that," the Human called out. "Lots of strong types in there. And the Mad Varren has never lost a fight."

"Is that the reigning champion?"

"Yeah."

"So be it." Determined, and ignoring the Human's sputtered warnings, Zeldo marched down the street. He'd have to buy a new omni-tool, headpiece, and simple weapons, or he was dead meat. He still had a mission at hand, and he'd be damned if a few Krogan thugs would cut his career short.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Frema'Zeeg angrily rifled through a scrap bin looking for parts she could use. Her plan with the Specter had worked, sort of, but she had found out that he had lived, though he was without gear. She cursed those dumb Krogans for not finishing him off and now it was left to her. She was broke now, with paying off the Krogans and living expenses on the station. It seemed now that she delved deep into the poverty portion of her lifestyle.

She finally found a circuit board she could use and pulled it apart from a chunk of metal before pocketing it. She then dove her gloved hands back into the mess and sorted through the detritus with fervor. Frema didn't have a plan. She wanted to kill the Specter, and when the other Specters left for reinforcements, she could slip away. But now that plan was ruined because the Specter was alive and missing.

A pair of Vorcha scavengers rustled in the trash near where Frema was digging. They sniffed and snarled around by her but she flashed a blade and hissed at them. The Vorcha snarled back, but kept their distance. She kept at her digging until finally finding a connector that was salvageable. She slumped back onto her behind and pored over what she found. A few seconds into her take she finally just threw her head back and sighed.

_'This is asinine,' _she thought, _'He wasn't even arresting me. He was going to take me by force, sure, but typically Specters don't babysit. Something about it seems wrong.'_

She stood up and made her way out of the heaps she was sorting through. She was broke and needed a place to hide. Or she needed more protection, which she couldn't afford. Perhaps Aria would help her, but then she might risk getting on her bad side in the first place. She didn't exactly have good luck arriving home with her people alive and intact.

Like Arrun said, some folks in Omega suspected she was cursed or C-Sec. Both were nonsense, obviously, but that didn't stop them from treating her like the plague. Her Quarian brethren knew her to be a traitor to her people as well. She was alone in a time when she needed allies the most. After a long walk from the heaps to one of the lower markets, she got a simple but risky idea.

For her plan to work she was going to need more parts. She had a talent for rigging up machines to do what she wanted them to do, but the plan was going to be significantly more difficult than anything she had ever attempted. Frema took inventory of her supplies and discerned she needed a pair of small servo motors that could fit inside the palm of her hand.

She wracked her brain trying to figure out where she could find some. Returning nothing, she decided her best option was going to be to approach a black market tech dealer and either buy them or find out where she could find them on her own. She knew just the Turian to contact.

"What the hell," Arrun Karas exclaimed when he saw Frema walking towards his stall, "I already told you, Frema'Zeeg, we're even. I'm not giving you anything more!"

"Calm down, Karas, I came to buy," she flashed her omni tool at him, "Have any servo motors smaller than a fist?"

"What? Even if I did have servos that small, I wouldn't sell them to you," the Turian snarled.

"Look, I get why you don't like me. I get to live the high life in deep space on exciting and dangerous adventures while you suck shit through a straw on this slag-heap of a station," she said waving her arms around dramatically, "But honestly this is not that easy for me. I just dragged my wheezing carcass through half a mile of scrap to find less than a few hundred credits worth of supplies to feed myself as I'm being hunted by a Specter of all things! So how about you cut out your petty moral high ground song and dance, before things between us take a turn for the ugly?"

"You want to threaten me, in my own place of business?" he yelled, "I could have you killed with one call."

"But you won't. I'm too valuable, and you know Aria needs me around," she bluffed, "Besides, the tech market on Omega needs a Quarian specialist for some of the work that needs doing, and I'm the only one on your side. So, you going to play nice now?"

Arrun Karas frowned and looked like he was getting angrier, but he relented. He thought she was right and so he dialed back his aggression.

"So, you need fist-sized servo motors huh? Well I still don't have any, but I think I know of a place I can find them," he said crossing his arms.

"Yeah, and?" Frema said, impatiently.

"I said I'd help you, but I never said for free. You know that, Frema'Zeeg," he smirked.

"I barely have enough to eat. How much are you going to charge me?" she snarled angrily.

"I'm tired of being in your debt Frema. This time, you'll owe me. A favor for a favor, for old times sake at least," he said wistfully, albeit bitter.

"Fine. Help me get those motors, and I'll owe you. Now what have you got?" she asked.

Arrun leaned in and looked over his shoulder before whispering, "I heard a rumor about a Batarian fighter with prosthetic arms. That's illegal in the fight club, obviously, but he seems to have avoided showing them. He probably has synthetic skin over the cybernetics. I'm thinking those arms have the servos you need in the elbows, though I can't be certain."

"You can't be certain?" Frema asked skeptically.

"Hey I said I I probably knew where they were. The Mad Varren is something to fear, especially for a guy like me. Poke around the club and look for his maintenance gear. You'll find what you need or you won't. Doesn't matter to me," he said shrugging.

"I can't believe I owe you a favor for that. Bosh'tet... Anyway, I'm off. Try not to miss me," she hissed, walking away.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

"The Citadel!" she hollered back.

Frema'Zeeg found her way into the main building that housed the fight club in the basements below. The place was as packed as ever, despite the lower population of Omega. She lost herself in the bustling crowd of bettors and got into the basement towards the ring. When she walked into the club, as she had done sometimes in the past, she carried a confident swagger that couldn't be deterred.

Even now she felt confident in this salty underworld place, but what she saw near the ring made her equally fearful and incredibly annoyed. The rookie Salarian Specter, Zeldo Kariss, punched air and performed other warming up exercises. She cursed under her breath and ducked out of sight before he noticed her.

She paced back and forth outside in the hall. How could he be here? He was supposed to be broken and delirious, running for help. Now he was right where she didn't want him. She tapped her faceplate as if she were tapping her forehead in thought. What to do with this situation?

Finally, she figured the best thing to do would be to stay out of sight and scope out the fighter who had the prosthetic arms. She rifled through one of her bags to look over the parts she had collected. The Quarian rogue only had a few parts, but to her they were a canvas of opportunity for creation. She knew her plan would work.

Frema'Zeeg found her way into the back rooms and quickly peered into open doors looking for her quarry. She turned her faceplate to face a giant Krogan (large even by their standards) getting his headplate polished by a pair of Asari tarts in revealing clothes. Frema chuckled and kept moving. After a few more empty rooms and slightly entertaining misses, Frema finally located what she thought would be the correct room. Outside, the door was locked and when Frema looked at the console it read "The Mad Varren."

"Quaint," she mused.

Frema'Zeeg waited outside in the hall until the door opened. A servant of some kind was leaving and Frema got a quick look into the Mad Varren's quarters. His Batarian eyes (most of them anyway) darted around him, poring over his own muscles and skin. His scars showed her he was a career warrior. The best part though, was that his synthetic skin was peeled down over his right shoulder while he fidgeted with the mechanics in the joint. She couldn't be sure what kind of make or model they were, but the basics were enticing. Just then Frema got a wicked idea. She strolled up to the door and knocked on it.

"I'm busy," came the gruff reply.

"How would you like to win every match forever?" Frema called charmingly.

A moment of silence passed before the door slid open and the Mad Varren stood before her, prosthetic arms crossed.

"I win all my matches anyway," he said, "But do go on. I have a minute or two before I have to punch something."

"Right, well, I was examining your arms there and I just thought of a modification to them that I could install to make you even _more _invincible than before. What do you say?" she asked making sure to pour on her practiced innocent cooperator voice.

"No," he said patiently, "No one touches my arms. It's against the rules anyway. Get lost, Quarian."

"Wait, I could..." she tried to stop him as he began to turn. She placed her hand on one of his arms.

He looked at her up and down and then let his multi-eyed gaze rest on Frema's hand.

"Remove that from me before this gets ugly," he said menacingly.

"No! Let me help you! You have no idea what you are facing off against!" she pleaded.

Frema'Zeeg drew her pistol from her hip and pointed it at the Batarian fighter.

"I'll just have to make you, then," she said smugly.

In a single motion the Mad Varren ripped the gun from Frema's fingers and continued the momentum around into his other fist which crashed into Frema's head from the side. She staggered backwards, her ears ringing, until backing into the wall behind her. The Batarian cruelly short stepped towards his defeated would-be attacker and sharply punched her in the stomach. She doubled over and met a knee spike to the faceplate. The glass cracked and Frema's vision went black as she crashed to the ground. As she drifted in and out of consciousness she could hear the Mad Varren walking off in some direction. She could feel the hiss of air running into her helmet, and she felt panic set in before she finally succumbed to unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

For the first time since arriving on Omega, Zeldo felt at home. He found the fight club and quickly found the signup booth, though the Elcor on the counter's other side looked skeptical, even on a blunt face like his.

"Exasperated: this is not the sort of place for you, Salarian," the massive, gray-skinned alien boomed. His beady eyes narrowed. "Dismissive: you should find work elsewhere."

Zeldo drew himself to his full height. "I've trained for years under several military experts of varying species. I served in the Special Tasks group for five years, and I never once needed a babysitter. Now are you going to sign me up, or what?"

"Apprehensive: you really think you can fight?" The Elcor shifted uncomfortably on his trunk-like legs. "A skinny guy like you?"

Zeldo grinned. "Trust me. Size ain't everything, whatever the Blood Pack thugs around here say. Everyone has their weak spots. And Salarians like me never forget a fact. I could knock you down with a light touch on eighteen different parts of your body. Want me to name them?"

"Defensive: no, that's not necessary," the Elcor said at once. "Very well. What is your name, Salarian?"

"Zeldo Kariss."

The Elcor dictated some info into his computer terminal and it beeped once. "I have logged you in, Mr. Kariss. In fact..." His eyes widened at the terminal's display. "Awe-struck: there are several free matches today, including the Mad Varren."

"I've heard of him."

"Tensely: I bet you have. He is our best fighter and has never lost. Perhaps you should fight someone else, seeing as you're a newcomer."

"I need a quick cash payout. What are my odds on the Mad Varren?"

The Elcor checked his data. "Sixty to one." He looked up at Zeldo. "Concerned: you should fight someone else. If you fought Two-shot Blaro, you would have four to one odds."

Zeldo cracked his knuckles. "I need the money for an airspeeder, weapons, and comm equipment. I'll take on the Mad Varren. Maybe I'll impress all the right people."

"With nervous humor: if you defeat him, you'd earn a spot in Aria's VIP club."

Oh right, Aria T'loak. The de facto boss here. She could be a potential ally... or obstacle. Depends on where my pursuit takes me. "Get me a match for the Mad Varren. I'm ready."

Reluctantly, the Elcor dictated more info into his terminal. "With finality: done. Your match is in ten minutes. Meet Arctus Benelli, the Turian in charge. He will get you ready."

"Thanks."

*o*o*o*o*

A few minutes later, Zeldo found himself warming up in one corner of the fighting ring. Funny how a square zone is called a ring, Zeldo thought. If he recalled, the term came from old Human fighting arenas. No matter. He had a job to do.

If only he knew that the rogue Quarian, Frema'Zeeg, was already here...

"You've got guts, kid," commented the pot-bellied Turian, Arctus Benelli. His gut strained his expensive suit, and he puffed on an expensive cigar as he checked data on his omni-tool. "No one fights the Mad Varren if they can help it, 'specially not new guys."

"I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," Zeldo assured him. He was bare-chested, having changed out of his armor and into a pair of knee-length shorts standard for club fighters. He jabbed well-practiced punches at an imaginary opponent, almost feeling tender flesh under his knuckles.

Already, a chattering crowd had gathered. Under the light of a few dusty light bulbs, mingled Humans, Batarians, Turians, Volus, and a few Krogans passed credit chits to the agents in charge of the bets. Zeldo was sure that everyone was betting on the Mad Varren, and for good reason.

At the ring's other end, the man himself also threw some practice punches into the air. Clad in shorts like Zeldo, the Mad Varren, a brawny, scarred Batarian, shot Zeldo taunting glances with all four eyes as he warmed up.

"The bets are in," Arctus told Zeldo. "Get a load of this! Some of them are actually betting on you!"

"Why?" Zeldo huffed, practicing his right hook.

"Novelty, I guess," Arctus figured. "Or some of them are bein' smart and realize that a new guy brings all kinds of possibilities. I've been surprised before."

"Do you think that'll happen here?"

Arctus exhaled some smoke. "Probably not. This is our best fighter we're talkin' about."

"I figured."

With that, Arctus stepped back and picked up a mic. "Good evening to you all!" his voice boomed on hidden loudspeakers. "We've got some new blood out here tonight, and it's a Salarian, no less! Guy tells me he worked for the Special Tasks Group. Think that'll give him the edge?"

The onlookers jeered at Zeldo, some giving him the thumbs-down. Typical.

"Well, the bets are in, and our gentlemen are ready!" Arctus went on. "On three... one..."

"Hey, squishy," the Mad Varren called over to Zeldo. "How you feelin'? Can I call you that? Squishy?"

Zeldo scowled. "No."

"You got it, squishy."

"Two..." Arctus said.

Zeldo raised both fists to the standard ready position and reviewed some stances for fighting an opponent like this. No doubt that the Human style, Jeet Kune Do, would be essential here. But the flexibility of Asari martial stances would be significant against a simple brute like this.

"THREE!"

A sharp tone sounded, and at once, the Mad Varren bounded forth. Without hesitation, his left fist shot out, right at Zeldo's head with a whoosh.

Years of training kicked in. Zeldo ducked the blow and scooted to the side, facing his opponent's open left flank. The Mad Varren's right arm couldn't reach from here, and it would take a split second for his left arm to retract for another blow. That gave Zeldo his chance.

Zeldo's heart raced as he clenched his right fist and drew it back. Time seemed to slow down; this had happened before, during his most intense battles. And no doubt this match would be among them soon.

"Oooooh!" The crowd gasped as Zeldo's right fist crashed into the Mad Varren's cheek with a thud. Salarian hands might be small by most standards, but Zeldo's knuckles had hit right home, stunning the Batarian.

Lightning-fast, Zeldo withdrew his right arm and sank his left knuckles right into the Mad Varren's ribs. He bounded back, unwilling to chance taking a desperate counter-attack.

"Will ya look at that!" Arctus commented into his mic. "The little guy's got some fight in him! That sounded like it hurt!"

"How about that?" Zeldo taunted, ten feet away from his foe. His fists were already back in position.

The Mad Varren rolled his head and turned to face Zeldo, grinning. "Arctus has got it wrong," he said. "That almost hurt."

Zeldo's heart sank. He knew how to read an opponent, and it was clear that his earlier punches had only aggravated the monstrous Batarian. And now the Mad Varren was looking for payback.

Tentatively, Zeldo approached his opponent and planned out his next few blows. Maybe if he struck at the Mad Varren's face, he could sneak a shot at his gut while the Batarian was defending his face. After all, having four eyes, a Batarian had plenty of vulnerable points up there. Then a strike to the temple...

"Raaaaah!" The Mad Varren took the initiative. His right fist jabbed at Zeldo's face and the Salarian only barely dodged in time, his nerves tingling as though on fire.

He's faster this time. Grimly, Zeldo swung at the Mad Varren's upper eyes with one fist, then a second later, the other. With any luck, the double strike could occupy the Batarian long enough to -

WHAM! Stars exploded in Zeldo's vision as the Mad Varren's other fist collided with his temple. He stumbled back, wobbling as through drunk. He distantly heard the crowd roar in bloodlust, eager to see their favorite fighter take out the newcomer.

Zeldo felt a touch of panic. The Mad Varren had countered faster than he expected, so speed alone was not enough. He'd have to use his smaller, more flexible frame to his advantage. Asari martial stances came to mind.

"The Mad Varren's got our newcomer on the ropes!" Arctus hollered. "I don't see our Salarian friend getting out of this one!"

Shut up, Zeldo thought impatiently. He needed to concentrate...

Already, the Mad Varren was coming for him again, fists raised. "What's the matter, squishy?" he taunted. "In over your head? That's what I thought."

Zeldo exhaled, willing himself to relax. Years of training flashed through his mind, and he recalled one Asari matriarch who had taught Zeldo a thing or two. "Be the reed that bends without breaking," she had told him in a practice hall on Thessia. "Flex. Adapt. Flow. If you're brittle, you will shatter."

Nothing else for it.

The crowd gasped in shock as Zeldo nimbly slipped past the Mad Varren's next blow. The Batarian scowled in frustration as his beefy fist shot through empty air; his massive biceps were no use if Zeldo was quicker. Zeldo worked his way around his bigger opponent, focusing entirely on the defense: duck a jab to the face, evade a blow to the stomach, dodge an uppercut...

"Hold still!" the Mad Varren growled through clenched teeth. His arms swished through the empty air, never slowing down. It seemed as though he'd never get tired.

And finally, Zeldo saw it: another opening, a flaw in the Mad Varren's attack pattern. With sweat beading on his green skin, Zeldo slipped by another punch and rushed into the Batarian's exposed flank. Zeldo's whole arm rattled as he landed a terrific blow to the Mad Varren's ribs. The sound seemed to echo through the whole room.

The Mad Varren snapped something in his own language and stumbled back, his four eyes narrowed. He dodged Zeldo's next blow, but was too slow to avoid a solid punch to the temple. The Batarian took a few steps back, clearly distressed.

This is it. Zeldo bound forth and swung a final blow to the face.

"Gotcha." The Mad Varren's left fist sank into Zeldo's stomach, and the Salarian actually felt himself lifted off his feet. His breath exploded out of his mouth and he felt himself seize up from the impact, his mind buzzing with pain.

Limply, Zeldo let himself get thrown to the ring floor, willing himself to get back up. His aching body shook, reluctant to obey.

Then, thick fingers seized Zeldo's body and hoisted him up. It was no act of mercy; the Mad Varren just wanted Zeldo upright to land another punch. A blow to the ribs nearly knocked Zeldo off his feet again, and he fought for breath.

No. I can't lose! There's too much left to do. He thought about Davi's cold disappointment if he got himself killed here in Omega's underworld, and how the Quarian, Frema'Zeeg, would escape into the unknown, her talents wasted out in the Terminus Systems. The council was counting on agents like him to get the job done and keep the galaxy safe.

"You're done, squishy." The Mad Varren took a few deliberate steps forward, drawing back his arm to land the killing blow.

Then Zeldo saw his chance. He felt one last burst of strength and knocked the Mad Varren's head to the side with a savage jab, then aimed a second blow to the jaw.

Hastily, the Mad Varren squirmed out of the way, and Zeldo's knuckles hammered the Batarian's upper left arm. To Zeldo's shock, the arm felt rubbery and dense, and he felt something hard under the flesh; not bone, but something... metal?

"Oooooooh!" The crowd stared as the Mad Varren's left arm suddenly spasmed, jerking and flailing wildly. Grimacing, the Batarian clutched his right arm with his left, trying to force it down. The hand and fingers flexed and wriggled as through on their own accord.

Zeldo realized what he was seeing. In some lawless regions, he had seen something like this. Grimly, he knocked the Mad Varren's right arm aside, grabbed a fistful of the left arm's skin, and tugged.

With a ripping sound, the skin peeled right off. But there was no blood; interwoven myomer fibers lay underneath, corded around a prosthetic arm of steel and wires. Everything, from shoulder to fingertip, was fake. And by chance, Zeldo had knocked something loose with his punch and made the whole system go haywire.

"No... noooooooo!" the Mad Varren howled, clearly panicking. He tried to hide his arm from the crowds, but the damage was done. The onlookers shouted in fury, pointing accusing fingers at their champion.

"You're disqualified, Mad Varren!" Arctus shouted furiously. "You knew the rules, but you broke 'em anyway, huh? You're never going to fight here again!"

Indeed, the Elcor at the booth had told Zeldo that biotics, weapons, and cybernetic enhancements were strictly prohibited here. Having a fake arm (and the other was probably synethic too) made the Mad Varren lose by default. And his bettors wouldn't like that.

"We have our winner! The newcomer, Zeldo Kariss!" Arctus declared. "Whoever bet on him just made it big!"

"I bet so much on you!" a Human snarled, fighting his way to the ring's edge. He drew a pistol. "Fucking cheater!" With a flash and loud boom, he fired.

The shot sent the Mad Varren reeling, his stomach oozing blood. Inspired, several other onlookers drew their weapons and fired, too. The air seemed to shatter as multiple shots ravaged the Mad Varren, blood splattering onto the boxing ring. Then, with a wet gurgle, the Batarian slumped to the floor, clearly dead.

Arctus snapped his bony fingers and pointed at the corpse. "Get him to the back room. I want those arms removed and analyzed. And we're going to have our other prize fighters checked, too. Where there's one, there might be more."

Zeldo watched in stunned silence as a Krogan and Human both dragged the Mad Varren's body into the back rooms. He barely even noticed when Arctus stuffed a credit chit into his hand.

"There. You earned it. Hell of a fight," Arctus muttered in Zeldo's ear. "5,000 credits should hit the spot, right?"

Zeldo nodded mutely. With that kind of money, he could get himself back on track. He'd collect his armor, buy some weapons and comm equipment, and resume the hunt for Frema'Zeeg.

He'd wasted enough time here already.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Frema groggily blinked her eyes open. She heard the hiss of air while her suit beeped a breach alarm into her ear. She coughed and tried to sit up. Her lungs were on fire! She coughed again and tried to get a look at her surroundings. She was in the hallway that the Mad Varren had left her, and it seemed that a stranger had dragged her aside to not block the hallway. Wheezing, she climbed to her feet.

Unfocusing her eyes, she examined the inside of her faceplate and groaned when she saw the crack. A few button pushes on her omni-tool and a quick check showed that the breach of open air had invaded her helmet and the backup containment sheet had failed to deploy. She manually closed the backup with the omni-tool and watched as the thin film of composite plastic slid under the plate and settled in flush with it.

She looked around and noted grimly that her eyes felt slow and clumsy in their sockets. Everything was sluggish; colors seemed distorted, the air seemed hazy and heavy, the people walking by her seemed to be moving either too fast or too slowly to be real. Frema'Zeeg had endured infections before, as all Quarians do, but not one this intense. She checked her clock.

"Keelah," she whispered to herself. "I've been out that long?"

She staggered forward, resolving to leave at once. Maybe the Spectre, Zeldo Kariss, won the fight? She felt that a Spectre, no matter how stupid, may be more than a match for a champion thug. She needed to find those arms of his, if they weren't stripped and scrapped by now. She bumbled forward and she more than once stumbled into a wall. Her fever worsened by the second and her sweat stung her eyes.

She rounded a corner and found her way in the fight club "morgue;" a backroom meant to prepare bodies to be sent to the incinerator. She pushed a Salarian worker aside, and as he called for guards in a panic, Frema'Zeeg began to pore over the bodies. She was still hazy and it was getting harder to focus and stand up straight.

Finally, she located the body of the Mad Varren and found that one of his arms had its skin torn off, revealing the metal bones and myomer fiber bundles.

'So the Spectre did win after all,' she thought. 'Makes things a little easier.'

Suddenly, the Mad Varren tilted his head and looked straight at her with a menacing sneer. "No one touches my arms," he growled. He then shot upright and put his hands around Frema's neck.

She yelped and stumbled backwards until she bumped into the table behind her. The Mad Varren lay on the table in front of her, as cold and as still as ever.

"Ugh, I gotta focus," she whispered to herself, nearly mumbling. "Focus on the now. Get help later."

The Quarian rogue went to work stripping the elbows of the Varren's arms and found, thankfully, the motors she needed were in them. Without delay, she detached the motors' wires and pulled them out.

"Thanks Arrun," she mumbled again.

Frema'Zeeg, having collected what she needed, left the room quickly and quietly. She knew Aria's goons would be on their way to collect her. Trespassing behind official doors was one thing, but tampering with the dead was enough to get you shot on Omega. Too many greedy merchants needing to strip a body for parts on the black market for just anyone to go stripping bits off of them, especially not a high-priority body like the Varren's.

Frema took care to not be followed to one of her hidey holes on the main level. Her apartment by Afterlife, while a good place to sleep, was not ideal for her plans. She stashed her equipment and other essentials in an alcove that only she knew about. She stumbled in and closed the door behind her.

Sitting down, Frema deposited the servos into her bag with the other supplies for her secret device. She made sure to secure the bag to her person and then went about looking for some medi-gel. Her hideout had many things, but as she feverishly looked over her meager supplies she found nothing. Breathing heavily, and having no other option, she brought out her omni-tool and activated her communicator.

Several pings on the other end and Arrun Karas answered angrily.

"I don't care, whatever it is," he said dismissively.

"You care enough you haven't hung up yet," Frema croaked. It hurt to talk and her lungs still burned like hell.

"Barely. What do you want?" he asked impatiently.

"I need help, Arrun," she whispered desperately. "I got a suit breach and I passed out. Need medi-gel. It's really bad."

Several seconds of silence passed between them. Frema's breathing got more haggard as the call wore on and she knew that it could get really bad, really soon.

"We're square," he said coldly. "You know how it is."

"Yeah, I do," she said back, bitterly. "I'm going to put a bullet in your head if I live through this."

"Counting on it. Good luck, Frema'Zeeg," he said, then hung up the call.

Frema'Zeeg slumped back into her seat. She had officially run out of options. Well, maybe she had a single option left. It was stupid, of course, but stupid and alive were a combination Frema felt she could live with.

She opened her communicator again, and this time called a signal she hoped still worked. "I know you still have your omni-tool, but I saw your other gear was missing at the fight club today, so I hope this finds its way to you."

She took a few deep breaths. She closed her eyes and saw the inside of her home, the Tonbay of the Migrant Fleet. She felt the bustle of Quarians walking past her, bumping her because it was so cramped. She could see the ports that showed the window of space and could hear the roar of old and rusty engines.

"It's not easy, this call, but I need your help now. I got wounded, and the infection is bad enough I might not make it."

Frema'Zeeg saw the face of the first man she killed. The first woman. The first child. She arched her back and tried to sit up straighter, but her lungs burned and she slumped back down. She remembered the first time she ate Turian frozen desserts, and how it hurt her brain when she had too much at once.

"I can't promise I'll go quietly, or that I won't try to cut fence and run when I get the opportunity, but I can promise I will go with you off this station. If you help me first, of course."

She fluttered her eyes closed then back open again. She felt her muscles getting tighter but at the same time she couldn't flex them.

"I need medi-gel and Turian antibiotics. I am leaving a signal imprint with this message that'll get you to me. If I'm not conscious, go ahead and carry me if you feel like it. I'm not heavy," she chuckled softly. "Door's open, Spectre. Come and find me."

She closed the communicator and sent the message. She hoped that whoever had Zeldo's gear now wouldn't be able to track the signal, but honestly, it didn't matter. She felt unconsciousness ebb at her and slowly, fighting it the whole way, she slipped back to sleep slumped against her wall.

*o*o*o*o*

"Sergeant Twern!" General Oleg called over the communicator. "I expect a full report of the cleanup on level six before the end of the hour. Do not disappoint."

"Of course, General. My report will be thorough as always," sergeant Kiroy Twern spoke into his communicator softly.

"Good. Cerberus is a stronger force with you on this reclamation. Oleg out." The communicator fell silent.

Twern looked around level six of Omega. Already, the other Cerberus soldiers in his platoon were storming into the hallways and rounding up civilians and weaker gang members. He felt the familiar buzz of Harbinger in the back of his mind, and the all-too-familiar grinding of the Reaper's voice in his ears.

"Kiroy," Harbinger whispered menacingly, but also lovingly. "There is a subject on this station I want you to detain."

'Of course, master,' he thought. 'Who is this subject? I will find him right away.'

"Stay the course of the Cerberus pretenders," Harbinger said soothingly. "Strike at the subject only after locating him. It is an agent of the Council."

'A Spectre,' he grimaced.

"Yes," it confirmed. "Your primary directive is to convince the Cerberus humans that you are an ally. Only when you locate the Salarian Spectre will you have permission to abandon that directive and pursue your quarry."

'Why is this Spectre worth abandoning my cover, master?' he thought, puzzled.

"It is not your place to ask, slave," Harbinger hissed. "But to sate your curiosity, which will in turn ease the completion of your objective, I believe he and others like him possess a plan to hinder the cleansing of the Reapers. There are many of your ilk working to stop Cerberus and other groups like it, but few are handling this new plan of action by the Council. I will say no more, Kiroy. Go now and fulfill your duty."

As Harbinger's influence faded from his mind, Kiroy Twern exhaled softly and went back to his normal duties. In Cerberus, he was taught many things that served him well. His discipline from training, for example, made him an excellent spy for the Reapers. He was able to hide his allegiance well, and in turn, perform normal actions that his comrades never suspected were malicious.

As he walked off to help round up more civilians, he thought about his next move concerning this Spectre he had to hunt. Perhaps he would utilize a parting gift from Cerberus? His smile was slight, but wicked, and many thoughts filled his head as he continued his work.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"What about _that_ one?"

Only hours after his fight with the Mad Varren, Zeldo had changed back into his armor and hurried to the nearest bazaar. Now, he stood before an old Asari and her selection of used equipment in her stall, and at the moment, Zeldo was pointing at a pistol on a metal rack. He had looked over and rejected several others already, since they had problems like crooked sights or a faulty ammo feed mechanism.

The Asari nodded curtly, took a puff on her cigarette, and handed over the weapon. "I ain't got all afternoon, kiddo," she said. "I've got some customers coming. I don't wanna keep them waiting. And _you_ don't wanna be in their way when they show up."

"Fine," Zeldo muttered, annoyed. "Anyway, this one will do." He nodded his approval as he looked the pistol over in his hands and set it on the stall's counter. Already, he had set aside a cheap but useable comm headset, a cheap omni-tool and a decent knife.

The Asari punched in some numbers on her omni-tool. "Got it. Total's 2,438 credits."

_I have plenty to spare in case I need to bribe someone,_ Zeldo figured. He handed over the credits, scooped up his purchases, and made his way through the chattering crowd. He didn't stop until he found a quiet alleyway in a nearby neighborhood.

Quickly, Zeldo fastened his weapons to his belt and booted up his omni-tool while securing his headset. Once the headset was synced to the omni-tool, Zeldo typed in Davi Cestello's comm channel and entered the passcode. There was a tone as the headset worked on setting up a line.

"This is Agent Kariss. Agent Cestello, do you read?" Zeldo said urgently into the headset.

The Turian Specter's voice was a bit fuzzy, but the channel was secure. "By the spirits, Agent Kariss! What happened down there?"

Zeldo grinned slightly at his mentor's mingled relief, scorn, and curiosity. He recounted the story of getting jumped by the two Blood Pack Krogan, entering the fight club, dueling the Mad Varren, and buying second-hand equipment. "... so, I've lost the target, but I'm getting back on track," Zeldo concluded.

"You'd better," Davi commented. "At this rate, she'll be gone for good. Rogues like her have no real permanent ties. She could sink deeper into the station than you can follow."

"I know." Zeldo rolled his eyes. "Now help me find my stuff. My omni-tool's tracking code should still be working."

"Give me a second." From the headset, Zeldo heard Davi typing into his ship's computer keyboard. "There. Signal's coming from three levels above you, a few hundred meters east. Some Krogan named Blunk has it."

Zeldo blinked. "How do you know that?"

"Because he contacted me with it to brag about beating you up. And when I responded, he made several colorful comments about my mother."

"Why aren't I surprised?"

Davi chuckled. "Get going. You gonna let some Krogan walk off with your stuff?"

"Course not. Agent Kariss out."

*o*o*o*o*

Two hours later, Zeldo found himself in another grimy, rusty, half-lit hallway on Omega, and up ahead, he saw a familiar Krogan walking with two of his fellows. Blunk the Krogan had Zeldo's weapons on his belt while he held his own shotgun loosely in one hand.

"You guys go ahead. I gotta go piss," Blunk said after the fellows laughed over a shared joke. He pointed to a nearby bathroom.

"Hurry up, then," another Krogan said. He and the other went on ahead, idly wondering aloud who they ought to beat up next. Meanwhile, Blunk pushed open the bathroom door and vanished inside.

With his heart suddenly racing, Zeldo scampered into the bathroom after Blunk, careful to not make a sound. He wrinkled his flat nose at the smell; typically, this public bathroom was filthy and Zeldo doubted that the toilets could flush very well. The overhead lights flickered, and there were several gunshot holes in the tiled wall.

Blunk hummed to himself as he walked up to a urinal, placing his shotgun on his back as he went. Just as he reached for his armor's zipper, he froze and whirled around. "I _thought_ I smelled a rat," he growled, eyes narrowed under his red brow plate.

Zeldo made sure to block the door. "You have my equipment. I want it back right now. And look, no one to back you up."

"I don't need backup," Blunk grinned, reaching for his shotgun. "It's your funeral, pal."

Zeldo was quicker. Already, his recently-bought pistol was out, and he snapped off a quick shot that seemed to shatter the air. Blunk winced, but the shot had only dented his thick chest armor. The Krogan now had his shotgun in both hands, and he pulled the trigger.

Damn it! Zeldo dove for cover behind a graffiti-covered stall. The stall's wall shattered into smoking pieces as the shotgun's pellets hit it, and Zeldo realized that he couldn't hide from Blunk's shotgun for long in here. Only one other option.

"Yowch!" Blunk recoiled as Zeldo's next shot hit his right hand, nearly shearing off a finger. He dropped his shotgun, the bulky weapon clattering to the floor. Blunk stared at Zeldo for a second, then roared and charged like a wild animal.

Zeldo holstered his pistol and dove out of the way, letting Blunk smash clumsily into the wall. Tiles shattered under Blunk's weight as Zeldo drew his knife, gripping it firmly in one hand. Then, the Salarian dove and slashed his knife at the Krogan's face.

SMACK! Furious, Blunk swept out a fist that caught Zeldo on the temple. His ears ringing, Zeldo fell and rolled across the floor, feeling as though his skull had cracked. He was still sore from his fight with the Mad Varren, and he noted grimly that if he didn't take out Blunk fast, he really might get killed this time.

Once again Blunk charged, and Zeldo scrambled out of harm's way just in time. This time, the Krogan crashed into a porcelain sink, splitting it in half. Water sprayed from the exposed pipes like a lawn sprinkler, coating Blunk's armor in a wet mist.

"You've gone too far this time, squishy little Salarian," Blunk huffed, his chest heaving. He clenched his fists. "Screw guns. I'll just tear you apart myself!"

_Everyone thinks Salarians are so soft,_ Zeldo thought. It was usually an advantage that let him take his enemies unaware, but this time, it was true. Zeldo fought down a wave of panic; the walls seemed to close in on him, his skull and ribs aching horribly.

Blunk lumbered toward Zeldo, grinning and throwing a punch. Combat training kicked in and Zeldo sprang to his feet, dodging Blunk's heavy punch by just an inch. He lashed out and caught Blunk's chin with his knuckles, but in his blood rage, the Krogan barely even blinked. Frantic, Zeldo jabbed his knife at Blunk's face, but the Krogan knocked Zeldo's arm aside.

"Raaaaah!" Blunk took advantage of Zeldo's opening and tried a headbutt. Zeldo dropped to a crouch and scooted to the side while Blunk jabbed his head through empty air. The Krogan swayed on the spot and nearly fell over, giving Zeldo his chance. The Salarian leaped onto Blunk's back and hung on, making sure to not drop his knife.

"Get off!" Blunk swayed from side to side, trying to throw Zeldo off. He reached back to pry the Salarian off, but withdrew his hands when Zeldo cut the Krogan's palm with his knife.

This time, Blunk whirled around and backed into a wall, intending to crush Zeldo between his bulk and the unyielding tiled wall. Alarmed, Zeldo let go and rolled to the floor, but with astonishing speed, Blunk kicked out a foot. Zeldo's breath exploded from his mouth as the Krogan's foot smashed into his belly.

Zeldo felt a rib crack as he tumbled across the wet floor, but he still didn't let go of his knife. He saw the massive Blunk tower over him, his reptilian face taut with fury. The Krogan reached down to seize Zeldo's head, probably intending to tear it right off.

Almost by instinct, Zeldo lashed out with his knife and sank the blade right into Blunk's knee, between two plates on his armor. The Krogan howled and stumbled back, but Zeldo wasn't done. Wheezing for breath, his head pounding with agony, Zeldo withdrew his bloody knife. He then stood up and jabbed the knife into Blunk's right eye.

The Krogan froze in shock, his breath catching in his throat. He only made a faint moan deep in his throat, his one good eye watching as Zeldo drew his pistol again.

"I'm sorry." Zeldo placed the pistol under Blunk's chin and fired.

The round tore right through Blunk's mouth and into his brain, and the Krogan slowly tipped over and crashed to the sodden floor like a statue.

"I don't like to take life when I can help it, but you forced my hand," Zeldo muttered to the Krogan's corpse as he wrenched out the knife. "Find peace with whatever gods you Krogan guys have." He stripped his items from the krogan's belt and re-installed his original omni-tool, plus his old knives, pistol, headset, and dart thrower.

But there was a surprise in store for him: a recorded message on the omni-tool. When Zeldo played it, he heard a Quarian woman's voice. "It's not easy, this call, but I need your help now. I got wounded, and the infection is bad enough I might not make it. I can't promise I'll go quietly, or that I won't try to cut fence and run when I get the opportunity, but I can promise I will go with you off this station. If you help me first, of course."

The Quarian took a shaky breath and added, "I need medi-gel and Turian antibiotics. I am leaving a signal imprint with this message that'll get you to me. If I'm not conscious, go ahead and carry me if you feel like it. I'm not heavy." She chuckled dryly. "Door's open, Spectre. Come and find me."

The message ended there. Zeldo stared at his omni-tool as the sink sprayed water into the air and Blunk bled steadily on the filthy floor. Was it a trap? It wouldn't be unlike this Quarian to play dead, but then again, Zeldo needed her healthy. If she really was sick from a suit breach, he couldn't risk it. He had to follow her.

At least the Quarian wasn't too far. The tracking signal placed her at a secluded area on Omega's main level. The place was probably hard to find in person, but with this signal, Zeldo could root it out and give her some of his medi-gel. He'd buy some Turian medicine along the way, too. So, he took a bit of medi-gel from his pack and soaked it into his skin, then packed the rest and set off. By the time he found the Quarian, the gel should seal his skull and rib injuries well enough to see them both off this station.

*o*o*o*o*

"So, there you are, little alien. Nice to meet you."

Kiroy Twern sat crouched in a dark corner on Omega's main level, waiting for a certain Salarian to come along. Harbinger's mental influence seemed to heighten his senses, alerting him of the Quarian in her hiding spot. He had no need to attack her; better to leave her alone as bait for the Spectre. And it had worked.

With a lean, tall head and inch-long blond hair that stuck up stiffly, Kiroy looked fairly average for a Human. But with the Reaper cybernetics in his body, he was far more than that. Right now, his squad was sweeping the level below this one under the pretense that some aliens were conspiring against them. Kiroy didn't mind lying to his squad; it bought him the time to get this done.

The Salarian warily looked this way and that as he went, carrying several small weapons and a packet of medicine, but his large eyes never locked onto Kiroy. Smiling to himself, Kiroy opened a compartment on his Cerberus armor and watched as several eight-legged mini-bots scuttled out, each four inches long. Shaped like spiders, they had multiple red eyes on each head and needles in their pincers equipped with poison. How funny that for all their technology, these little wonders used the same killing method as their primitive, organic counterparts.

These spiders were a personal gift from the Illusive Man, a product of Cerberus' stealth department. Wars weren't just won with missiles and fleets; a single well-placed blow could cripple an enemy force, totally silent but deadly. Harbinger, for one, found the spiders quite amusing, and he gave his approval for their use against the Specter target.

Kiroy extended an arm and placed it to the wall. The spiders crawled up his arm and onto the wall, making their way toward the unsuspecting Specter along the ceiling. _Not long now, my pets. Not long at all._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Darkness. The void of light surrounded her mind and enveloped her in the velvety embrace of sleep. Even so, slowly, agonizingly, Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay dragged herself to a groggy state. She felt heavy as she tried to look around inside her helmet. She heard noises, far away, but they were there. Thump, thump, thump. She tried to flex her fingers. She could barely feel them. Finally, with intense willpower fueling her, she managed to snap her eyes open.

The ceiling of her hideout greeted her, making her heart sink. This must be Hell, she thought. She had read about it once, and she had discerned it had to be an ironic place. Here she was, dead, stuck in the same place she died. The place she hated.

Thump, thump.

The thumping was louder now, and clearer, too. She tried to lift her hand. It raised, unsteady, a few inches off of the ground. She managed to get her arm to lift and tuck her elbow under itself. With great effort, and grunting, Frema managed to prop herself upwards to get a look around. In seconds, a hand shot out and pushed hard on her ribs.

She flew back to the ground flat and just continued to stare at the ceiling.

"Stay down!" came a muffled yell. "Don't you die on me!"

"What?" Frema thought. "who could that be? Oh, right, right, the Salarian. Huh. Why's he telling me to stay down?"

Already Frema'Zeeg could feel her fever receding. Her grogginess was still intense, but her senses were heightening by the second. Finally, she got a better understanding of her surroundings when she carefully looked around.

She was in her hideout, much like before. This time though, she was pushed to the side of the room closer towards the opposite wall where she passed out. The Salarian Spectre, Zeldo Kariss, was crouched low against the same wall and was peeking out the doorway with his sidearm raised. The thumping she heard came back, much sharper now, as Zeldo let fly a few shots from his gun.

He ducked back behind the door when a volley of return fire came through and slammed into the back wall. Bewildered, and still slightly out of it, Frema managed to drag herself to a crouching position and came up behind Zeldo.

"Hey," she said frantically, "Thanks for the meds."

"Glad you're awake," he said over his shoulder. "Spiders didn't get you, did they? Please tell me they didn't..."

"Spiders?" Frema asked.

She looked around the floor and saw two or three little robotic forms. They were multi-legged and had little needle-like pincers. A few had been stomped on and another had been shot. They were odd and of fine quality. She had never seen one like them before, and so she decided to pocket one. She made sure that the mangled machine was secure in her pocket, and then turned her attention to the firefight.

"Who's shooting at us?" she asked, checking her belt for her pistol.

"Don't know," he said, returning another shot. "I thought he was after you, honestly."

"I know a few people trying to kill me, but none of them use robotic arachnids," she mused. "They seem fancy. _Bosh-tet_!"

She hissed in pain as she inhaled too deeply. She was still messed up from the infection, but the emergency medicine the Spectre administered was keeping her vitals in check. It didn't really occur to her that she had just been saved by the law. The thought was sobering, somehow.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly.

"Nothing, I'm fine. Look. we're trapped like rats in here. How did this goon find us anyway?" She snapped, furious. "Were you followed?"

"How should I know? I was careful, but it doesn't matter now," Zeldo said with authority. "Let me escort you to Dock 61. I have a ride for us there."

"Right then, captain," she sneered. "Lead the way."

A few moments passed and the firefight seemed to die down. The commotion caused by the shots drew some of Aria T'Loak's guards to the area. The mysterious assassin wasn't seen leaving, but the shots from his direction stopped as soon as the guards came into the area. Zeldo, with Frema behind him, walked into the alley and looked around as Aria's guards came up to them.

A rough-looking Asari commando strode up to them with a cocky swagger and a look mean enough to make a Krogan jealous. She walked up to them accompanied by two Turian guards while the rest of the patrol scoured the area.

"I know you, little Frema'Zeeg, and I'll deal with you in a second." She then looked at Zeldo. "You, though, are a stranger to me. Who are you?"

Frema hung her head low as the Salarian spoke, "Zeldo Kariss. I'm..."

"A Spectre, yeah," the Asari said dismissively. "That name showed up on my feed the moment you arrived in the docks. A few people have been keeping an eye on you, but we lost track of you when some Krogans got grabby with your gear. What the hell is the scuffle about?"

"Since when does Aria bother herself with a little gunfire?" Frema'Zeeg scoffed.

With a sneer, the Asari commando dragged Frema over with her biotics, then slammed her to the floor with the butt of her rifle. Zeldo knelt next to her but his hand was smacked away as Frema got back to her feet.

"Bitch," Frema'Zeeg hissed quietly.

"You want another?" the Asari howled before being interrupted by Zeldo.

"Let's not get carried away. We're all grownups here," he said frantically, gesturing with his hands. "I'm just going to take Frema'Zeeg far from this place. No one has to die, all right?"

"Oh, really?" the Asari said, cocking an eyebrow, "Normally, I would take you both to Aria to have her sort you out. But today is your lucky day Spectre. It seems that Cerberus is on the station and they are rounding people up. Aria has bigger fish to fry, as it were, and you won't be swatted on your way out. You both have an hour to leave or you'll be escorted to the airlock."

"All right. That's fair." Zeldo turned to Frema. "Come on, miss Tonbay."

He led the way to the docks and got radioed Davi Cestello, who picked them up. They were leaving Omega's fields before half the allotted hour was up.

*o*o*o*o*

When the ship was finally in a comfortable pace and on a course for the Citadel, Zeldo got up from his co-pilot's seat to go check on Frema'Zeeg. Agent Cestello took hold of his arm as he began to pass.

"Remember who she is, Agent Kariss," he warned.

Zeldo remembered reading the file and the death count, and strengthened his resolve. "She came to us, you know," he reminded Davi. "Aren't you ever going to learn to trust others?"

Davi ignored the slight sarcasm in Zeldo's question. The Turian huffed. "She came to us only in an act of desperation. There is a reason the Council wants her. She's incredibly dangerous." He let go of Zeldo's arm, and his usual wry grin returned. "You wanted a challenge, kid, and you got it."

Zeldo remembered seeing Frema get slapped around by the Asari guard and wondered how she could actually be so deadly. Then he remembered the spiders and realized that a creature did not need to be mighty to be dangerous. When he came to the lounge directly behind the cockpit, Frema was sitting at the only table, tinkering with something.

"What's that you've got there?" he asked, sitting down nearby.

"It's one of the spiders from Omega," she said casually. "I think I can get it working again."

"Why would you need that?" he asked hesitantly. "Last thing I need around here is a poison needle right up the -"

"You never know," she interrupted, annoyed. The last thing _she_ needed was more snarky comments from the Salarian/Turian tag team.

A few quiet moments passed. Frema'Zeeg felt Zeldo's eyes boring into her from the other side of the cabin, and she still felt the lump of her secret device in her pocket. She wondered if it would actually work if she tried it. She decided to just let it sit for now. She was still wounded and they were in deep space by now. If she was going to leave, she decided it would be easier in public, like at the Citadel.

She remembered the firefight suddenly and wondered something. "What's Cerberus?" she asked.

"You don't know?" Zeldo asked, bewildered. He turned more serious than Frema had ever seen him. "They're only the worst threat to non-human life and they jeopardized crucial missions against the Reapers. They're terrorists."

"I see," she confirmed. "What does Cerberus want with you?"

Zeldo turned his large black eyes at her. "What if they were after _you_?"

"Come on, don't insult me," she scoffed. "I'm a pirate and a thief. You are a Spectre. It's obvious who is the higher priority target."

Zeldo just thought about that for a minute. Finally, he got up. "Need anything?" he asked, as casually as he could muster.

"Got any Turian cold desserts?" she asked without looking at him.

"Um, I don't think I do," he said, thinking about it.

"Peace and quiet, then," she said with finality.

Zeldo smirked and made his way back to the cockpit. He sat down next to Agent Cestello and looked out the window while the ship flew through space.

"Handful?" Cestello asked casually.

"Yes," he replied easily. "Yes, she is."

*o*o*o*o*

Kiroy Twern climbed into a stolen ship and took off quickly during the confusion of the firefight on the docks. His platoon was engaged with the aliens that ran the place and in the scuffle he managed to find his way to the docks and commandeered a way off the station. With this act of treason against Cerberus, his cover was blown. But he didn't care; his directive was perfectly clear.

He ran his fingers through his stiff blond hair and sighed as the ship slipped out of Omega's system. Curse that Salarian! His quick reflexes thwarted the first of his mechanical assassins and by that point it was easy for him to dispatch the others. Leave it to a disgusting organic like the Illusive Man to come up with such a frightfully inefficient weapon.

Kiroy scratched the back of his neck angrily, as was his habit, and plotted a course for the Citadel. He felt Harbinger's influence once again seep into his mind and the profound sense of dread he had become accustomed to flooded him.

"You have failed me," Harbinger whispered.

"Master-" he started.

"Silence. You will know pain, Kiroy," Harbinger hissed menacingly.

Suddenly an influx of white-hot pain shot through Kiroy's spine and into his brain. He clutched his temples and howled. Sliding to the floor, Kiroy screamed at the pain. He knew not to cry or beg. Harbinger, like the other Reapers, allowed only as much as they will with no room for error or maneuver. He wanted Kiroy to experience torturous anguish, but to show weakness beyond only the most acceptable was insulting.

After a few seconds of the most intense pain imaginable, it all of a sudden subsided and a flood of cool relief flooded into him. It was like euphoria, the absence of that agony. Kiroy climbed back into his chair and awaited his master to speak again.

"You have been gifted with extraordinary opportunities, Kiroy. I know you will not disappoint again," Harbinger said, and then faded.

Kiroy Twern felt fresh resolve enter his thoughts and bared his teeth. His sharp nose flicked upward as he inhaled deeply. His cold, dark blue eyes stared out into space as he contemplated how to go about destroying his target now. He felt that on the Citadel, he would be able to not only destroy the Salarian he hunted, but also terminate anyone else who operated against the Reapers. A perfect redemption, he though, and fitting for his master's pleasure.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"This is Spectre Agent Davi Cestello, requesting permission to dock in C-Sec headquarters."

There was a few seconds of silence, and Davi responded into his headset: "Copy that. Setting approach vector." The Turian cut the channel and looked over his shoulder at the two passengers. "We'll be there in fifteen minutes. Agent Kariss, we're gonna get you patched up. Frema'Zeeg, C-Sec will make sure that you're comfortable."

Neither Spectre on board could see Frema's face, but her snort made her thoughts clear.

"Making a Quarian criminal comfortable on the Citadel. Tell me another," she huffed.

"Hey, you are considered an asset for this conflict," Zeldo reminded her urgently. He relaxed on a leather chair in the lounge, but his expression was alert.

"Yeah, like I believe that. No one even told me what I'd be doing anyway," Frema chided. She glanced away, avoiding Zeldo's eyes.

Davi shrugged and turned his attention back to the windshield, where the mammoth Citadel loomed in its purplish nebula. Meanwhile, Zeldo hesitated at Frema's words. Did he really want to agitate her further after all she's been through?

_Hell. It's my turn to give people a piece of my mind._

Zeldo got up and joined Frema on her couch, on the lounge's opposite wall. "I'm not playing a game here," he told her firmly. "And I don't get my kicks by picking up Quarian girls. I have a duty, and I risked my life as much as you did to do it."

"Really? You call shooting up an unconscious victim with drugs 'picking up'?" Frema chastised. She scooted a few inches away, her hands in loose fists on her lap. She turned her masked face to Zeldo.

"The Council wants me on their pretty Citadel? Maybe they're playing games with you, rookie. It sounds like they're giving you the crap jobs anyway."

"Well..." Zeldo flinched; his few assignments before this one really had been jobs of the sort. Then he realized something. "We don't have to save the galaxy ourselves, you know. Everyone has to step up and defend what we've worked hard to build." He pointed. "Even you."

"Is that what the Council drilled into your head?" Frema scoffed. "Don't you ever think for yourself? What have I worked hard to build that I need to protect, huh? What have you? What has he?" she waved a hand absently at Davi, "It's all a scam. A racket. I won't get sucked in to the Citadel's games. And the Reapers can kiss my shiny faceplate."

Zeldo sighed. "You don't understand."

"Really," Frema repeated.

"Don't think you're the only one with doubts. I had to get through a lot to earn the right to call myself a Spectre, and I wanted to quit many times."

"That didn't work," she laughed.

"What do you mean?" he asked her with questioning eyes.

"You wanted to quit being a Spectre. And yet here you sit," she smiled, though he couldn't see it.

"Even though, once, I wanted to be a marine biologist."

Frema cocked her head. "Really? Quite a career shift."

Zeldo paused for a fraction of a second. "I was bullied as a kid back home on Sur'Kesh. I wasn't as smart as the others, and my family didn't have much standing. The other kids called me 'Veldo'."

"What?"

Zeldo made a wry grin. "It means something really gross in my language."

"Right."

"But one afternoon, this particular bully and his friends went too far after I insulted them out of weariness of their constant nonsense. So they knocked me down near the school zone and beat me. Really badly. Hospitalization kind of bad."

Frema shifted, then feigned coldness. "So?"

"Are you always so nasty?" Zeldo asked, annoyed.

Frema sighed audibly, "Why'd they beat you so badly?"

"The ringleader was part of a high-standing family. I called them a bunch of Veldos."

"You had it coming then," she laughed.

Zeldo sneered at her. "I transferred to another school, but I didn't feel like it was enough. So I decided to take charge of things. I dropped from school and joined a training camp for the Special Tasks Group. And I was good at it. Vented my pent-up feelings and earned a spot on the Group.

"It was tough in the Group, and I nearly got myself killed at least three times, maybe four. I started to wonder what my life could have been like if I wasn't bullied and got into a good college. But then, a Spectre visited and looked for potential candidates for the Spectres."

Her contempt for Spectres all but forgotten, Frema glanced at Davi. "Don't tell me..."

"Yeah. He liked my spunk and took me in. The training with him made the Group look like a happy camping trip, and I nearly got myself killed several more times. One day, after I lost it and started yelling at Davi, he shoved me to the ground and told me this: 'People aren't the best at what they do because they just have to do it. They _want_ to do it, their soul _needs_ to do it. Resolve comes from inside'. And he was right."

Zeldo took a deep breath. "Sorry to rant. But the point is, I never bitched about my duty again, because it lets me realize that I'm making a real effort to improve this universe. I was just a bullied kid... but I worked hard enough to do better, so I do. And you can do that too. I'm giving you that chance." He grinned. "You gonna waste it like that? Gonna get cold feet?"

Frema seemed to weigh her words. "Well... not _everything_ you said can relate to what _I've_ been through, but I'll think about it."

"What have you been through, Frema'Zeeg?" Zeldo asked cautiously.

"Do you really want to know?" she asked innocently.

"Yes, I do," he assured her.

"Back on the Flotilla, life for Quarians is hard. The admirals and captains all put pressure on everyone to make sure they behave and directly support the whole of the Fleet, above all else."

Zeldo nodded.

"The truth of the matter," Frema continued, "Is that not everyone lets that pressure squash them flat. My mother wasn't going to let the captain of the Tonbay tell her, or anyone in her family how to live their lives. You could probably guess who won the argument."

Zeldo frowned. "What happened to you _specifically_?"

Frema 'tsked' then continued, "I grew up. After my father died, and my mother was exiled from the Fleet, I was left in the care of my cousins until I was old enough to go on Pilgrimage. I knew when I left I had no intention of going back. I even stole some supplies from the Captain to show them how angry I was."

Zeldo smirked, "I can't imagine they liked that."

"No, they didn't," Frema confirmed, "And the Quarian retrieval team I left dead on Noveria was the only message I needed to send them. There was this one Quarian commando, Div'Saabi I think her name was... we played together as children on the Tonbay. I shot her in the throat and let her asphyxiate to death."

Zeldo swallowed, then regained his composure and stared hard at her. "Are you trying to scare me?"

"I'm just telling you what I am, and how I got here," she said innocently. "The Citadel wants a mechanic like me on their team? That's fine, but just so they know I am as mean as they get. I didn't ask for this task, this 'improving the universe' project you have."

Her voice softened, "Maybe I do have cold feet."

"I guess it doesn't matter what you were before, or what you'll be after this is all over. This galaxy is the only one we are likely ever going to get," Zeldo told her with resolve. "All life can't be meaningless to you, and this is an opportunity to defend them and make some of your past actions make a difference."

"Alright. I'll play nice. When we get to C-Sec, if I'm not shot on sight, how about that Turian dessert?"

"All right." Zeldo cracked a grin. "It's a deal." He offered a hand, and Frema shook it.

*o*o*o*o*

Docking onto the Citadel's wards had proved easier than expected. Kiroy Twern had simply forged a few official-looking documents, and a phony diplomat from Earth stepped onto one of the station's six mammoth arms. From there, Kiroy headed right for a warehouse late one evening to pick up some hardware.

Only one worker was left at the warehouse, a dark-haired man who muttered to himself as he typed inventory data into his omni-tool. A few LOKI-class 'mechs carried around some crates, but Harbinger was already on that. Crouched behind a crate, Kiroy grinned as the Reaper accessed the 'mechs' processors and scrambled them. There must be no witnesses, after all.

"Hey there," Kiroy said boldly, stepping from cover and toward the man. His Cerberus armor clanked as he walked, his chin held high.

The worker whirled around and pointed an accusing finger. "Hey, pal, you're not supposed to be in here. Why are -"

With a satisfying crunch, Kiroy seized the man's head and twisted hard. The worker slumped to the floor in a heap, and Kiroy casually stuffed the body into an empty crate. He locked the crate and turned his attention to a particular shipment.

"These machines are mockeries of my perfection," Harbinger said to Kiroy as he unlocked a huge crate, revealing a pair of YMIR-class 'mechs, ten feet tall each.

Kiroy nodded and ran a hand fondly down one 'mech's gun barrel. "Of course they are. Have you ever felt weaker creatures crushed underneath your heel?"

"More times than you can fathom."

"One of these can do that to our enemies. After all, look at the people on this list. They won't stand a chance." Kiroy's omni-tool scrolled through a list of target profiles: Alliance officers, alien commanders, trainee Spectres, and other people important to the Reaper war. All were on the Citadel, and among them was his three most troublesome targets: the Spectres Davi Cestello and Zeldo Kariss, and the Quarian rogue Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay.

They wouldn't trouble him for much longer.

"As a single man, you will have trouble orchestrating this attack successfully," Harbinger noted.

"Give me some credit, will you?" Kiroy typed into his omni-tool and slipped through a secure channel. "Look at that: I've arranged for several targets to meet here at the wards under an Alliance officer named Antoine Dumont. Sounds French."

"And the YMIR 'mech..."

"Will kick down the door," Kiroy finished. "And when it's done, or somehow destroyed, all memory banks will be wiped. No one can trace it to me."

"Very well. Move out."

*o*o*o*o*

"Dauf? In the Eagle Nebula?"

Spectre Davi Cestello stood before the councilors, hands clasped behind his back. Purple nebulae twisted and glowed behind the enormous windows in this room, but today the Turian didn't feel like sight-seeing. If he strayed from his duties for even a moment, all beautiful things would burn under the Reapers.

"Yes, specifically in the Teresa star system," the Salarian councilor said. He picked at a spot on his blue and orange robes. "Our intelligence suggests that a library of sorts is located on the planets surface that may be connected to the Reapers. It was inhabited by a human and Turian mining colony."

"Was?" Davi questioned.

"The colony deserted the system when the Reaper invasion began, for fear of annihilation so far from Citadel space in the Attican Traverse," the Asari councilor continued. "If the Reapers discovered the library and secured it, there would be no hope in gaining its knowledge. This is exactly the kind of situation your initiative calls for."

Davi grinned. "The recruits, I assume?"

"Correct," the Turian councilor affirmed. "Other Spectres will rendezvous with you and Agent Kariss and travel to Dauf in order to investigate and secure the library. The Council recognizes there are few enough options as it is, and every lead must be investigated. If the Reapers are already there, it may be folly to go." His tone softened. "From one of my kind to another... may all the spirits watch over you."

Davi saluted, and the Turian councilor returned it.

"Of course, you'll be part of an elite team," the Asari went on. "While manpower may be at a premium in this pressing hour of galactic need, the Spectres accompanying you will only be half the force. The talented group of individuals collected from across the galaxy can use this opportunity to help against the Reaper threat."

"I understand," Davi said firmly.

"Good," the Salarian councilor said, satisfied. "Now, I believe that Agent Kariss and the Quarian are still recovering from their battles on Omega. They'll have a few days of rest before the mission to Dauf starts. You may want a little R&R, as they call it, before you go. I would recommend taking this time to get each of the team members acquainted. You're dismissed."

"Thank you, councilor."

As Davi turned and walked away, he dearly hoped that Zeldo and Frema had found a way to get along, at least as co-workers of a sort. Otherwise, this would be one hair-raising mission...


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Frema'Zeeg inhaled deeply as clean, luxurious Presidium air filled her helmet. A little throat swelling was definitely worth the gorgeous smell of the air. Clean, fresh air was a comfort Frema seldom had, so she drank it in greedily as she walked.

Zeldo Kariss walked a little ahead of her, with Agent Cestello in the lead. They were on their way to the C-Sec offices on the Presidium to meet with some people. Agent Cestello strode up to the counter and signed himself in and began filling out some paperwork for Kariss and Frema'Zeeg.

"Nervous?" Zeldo asked her as they waited for Davi to finish typing. He folded his arms and idly watched others pass by.

"Of course not," Frema lied convincingly. "I _love_ being in the heart of galactic law enforcement."

Zeldo chuckled briefly as they were buzzed in. The pair followed the senior Spectre into the lounge past the security gate. Frema, having closed her external air ports, found a nice corner of the room and leaned up against a wall. She sighed audibly, which let loose a quiet electronic hum from her helmet.

"All right, you two," Davi Cestello began. "The recruits that my fellow Spectres and I have found are in the next area. Miss Tonbay, I expect without any doubt that you will behave yourself on the Citadel. Any actions deemed unfit for service will be met with severe consequences."

"Muzzle your dog," Frema grumbled to Zeldo. He elbowed her in the arm.

Davi made a face. "It's important that we all _work together_ through this, understand? I've arranged a meeting with everyone in the team that will be assisting us on our first mission. Try to get along."

"Will I be debriefed as well?" Zeldo demanded.

"Of course," Davi confirmed. "Let's get a move on, then."

Frema leaned off of the wall and followed the two of them. All around there were C-Sec guards of various races and other officials and workers walking about. Every single one of them glanced at her at least once. Some longer than just a few moments. Frema suddenly felt very alone.

They came to a doorway and without much ceremony opened the way into a sort of lounge. There were a few chairs and a sofa, along with a water cooler and some other knicknacks. On the sofa there sat an Asari with one leg propped up. She had a cool and equally gruff expression on her face. Her frustration likely came from the second Asari standing next to her and jabbering away like a maniac.

On the far wall of the lounge sat a human male, with thin glasses and an intense expression on his face as he read his omni-tool. Whatever it was must have been interesting. The last figure in the room was leaning up against the same wall with her arms crossed. The Turian female glanced over at the trio that had entered the room and immediately walked over to them.

"Davi," she said warmly and saluted when she drew near. "You reek of the Terminus systems." She wore simple light armor under a parted blue cloak.

"I'm not justifying that statement, Glin," he said and returned the salute. "You remember Zeldo Kariss, my student?"

"Frankly, no," Glin smirked. "What has he done lately?"

"He faced down a Cerberus agent and carved through Omega singlehandedly to complete his mission. Half of the time he was unarmed!" Frema'Zeeg nearly shouted.

She tensed, suddenly prideful of her rescuer. For his part, Zeldo just stayed quiet.

"Who's this?" Glin asked, turning her veteran's gaze on Frema.

"Glin Avarius, this is Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay. She'll be accompanying us on our mission to the Teresa system," Davi assured her carefully.

"Fine," Glin said coldly. "As long as she performs. This mission is not a pleasure cruise, and it is vital that we succeed. That being said, we should probably all get acquainted." She pointed at the others who had been listening in. "You three, introduce yourselves."

The chatty Asari volunteered immediately.

"Hello, my name is Doctor Polymina T'jestrix, professor of Xenolinguistics at Antessin University on Thessia - it's an honor to meet you all - I've heard so much about you - you can call me Doctor Poly or just Poly if that's too long -"

"Breathe, Dr. T'jestrix," Glin said calmly.

The Asari took a deep breath. "Right, sorry. My father was a Salarian and my mom thinks I may have gotten his hyperactivity." She laughed a little strangely. "My goal is to better understand the Reaper language and to interpret anything written if we can find it."

Since Polymina had been talking, the other Asari had gotten up and meandered over to the main group. She stood a little taller than Davi, who otherwise would have been the tallest in the group. Her skin was a deep dark blue, and she had knotted muscles along with several scars.

"I'm Yeemin Iera," she spoke gruffly, a stark contrast with Dr. T'jestrix. "I'm a former member of a Commando squad and former security officer on board the Destiny Ascension. I've since retired from military action but I volunteered on this mission with the impending Reaper threat and all. I can use my experience and intuition to lead our little gang here when boots hit the dirt."

"Yeemin is the senior military expert among us by several centuries," Glin reminded everyone. "She's a valuable person to listen to. She'll have tactical control over our group if we encounter any hostiles. Otherwise, the command falls to me."

The young human man stepped forward as it was his turn to speak. "I'm Horatio Flang," he said carefully and deliberately. "I'm a prisoner of the Citadel."

Glin chuckled and let him continue.

"I got caught hacking into the Presidium terminals and disabling several systems. I got released on the condition that I agree to join this mission. So here I am."

"What he isn't telling you is that he hacked fifteen different alien computers in less than an hour. Some of which had security codes in encrypted languages that other races have invented," Professor T'jestrix beamed. "He knows as much about computer languages as I do about spoken and written ones!"

Horatio smiled nervously.

"Perfect skill for a digital library," Zeldo mused.

Agent Kariss hadn't spoken since they had arrived and Frema was almost shocked by his sudden words. All eyes turned to them as Zeldo introduced himself to the others. "I am Agent Zeldo Kariss, rookie Spectre under Agent Davi Cestello's tutelage. I have Special Tasks Group experience and mastered several martial arts forms of various species, Human included. I also have skill in pistols and dart throwers of all types. In short, I am a CQC expert and infiltrator. What is more, I..."

Frema'Zeeg could barely hear anything more and she felt her eyes getting heavy. In a few moments she would have to make her first impression to these people, and she had to not screw it up. Her throat tightened in terror as if a hot, stuffy blanket seemed to tangle itself around her brain.

Soon she heard her name being called, once and then twice. Finally she looked up.

"Frema?" Zeldo asked. "You still with us?"

"Yeah," Frema croaked. She looked around. Her faceplate hid her expression and she stared at each of the recruits and the Spectres that accompanied them. All eyes were on her at that moment, and she knew that what she said now would set the tone for the rest of the mission.

"My name is Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay," she said normally, "And I'm a murderer."

Polymina's smile faded almost all the way, and Yeemin's gruff expression darkened slightly. Horatio looked away and scratched his neck as Glin glared at her. Davi was rubbing his forehead with his finger tips and Zeldo froze, aghast.

Davi suddenly checked his omni-tool and announced to the group: "The Council has requested our presence on behalf of an Alliance Officer, Colonel Antoine Dumont."

"Are all of us going?" Polymina asked.

"Only Glin and I have been asked," he corrected, her."I suppose we can all go unless any of you are otherwise engaged."

"I'll pass," Yeemin said. She returned and plopped down on her couch.

"I'd like to stay here as well." Horatio walked back over and sat on one of the vacant chairs instead of the floor.

"I'll go!" Polymina volunteered excitedly.

Zeldo nodded as well. "I'm in."

Frema'Zeeg sighed inwardly. "I have nowhere else to be. Let's go."

*o*o*o*o*

Antoine Dumont tried craning his neck to the side to stare up at his captor. The assassin's large knee lay painfully on his neck and Antoine fought hard for every breath. Dull pain throbbed through his skull as he waited and waited for what seemed like an eternity. The large, blonde-haired man looked down at him suddenly and quickly.

Antoine muffled something through his gag and was met with a shifting of weight from his captor. The shifting caused the man's kneecap to sit directly on top of his windpipe, and the resulting weight crushed it. Antoine struggled for breath, but could only exhale. As he wheezed out the last of his precious air, his vision started to get blurry at the edges. He kicked and thrashed about and cried as hard as his meager voice could cry through the gag. Finally, blissfully, his heart stopped and he went limp under Kiroy's weight.

"Killing him beforehand would have saved you effort and time," Harbinger whispered to him.

"It was funner this way." Kiroy grinned and returned his gaze to the Wards' office building. From his vantage point he could barely see the YMIR mech stashed across the street from the meeting place. All afternoon he had watched as several of his targets had filed in to the office building and waited for their host to arrive.

Finally, his moment had arrived as a pair of Turians, one male and one female, arrived on the street with an Asari, and the Quarian and Salarian from Omega. He gritted his teeth in anger when he saw them, but knew this was his chance to get them. His spiders had failed, but an YMIR had much more firepower than they did, and was tougher, too.

The quintet disappeared into the front of the building. Kiroy waited and counted backwards from forty in his head. As soon as he got to zero, he pushed the button on his omni-tool and watched with deviant glee as the first YMIR lurched free of its hiding spot and lumbered towards the building.

Kiroy held his breath until the piercing crash of metal and glass echoed throughout the street and the humdrum semi-silence was shattered by the glorious symphony of gunfire and screams.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The meeting room was simple and austere to Zeldo's eyes, but comfortable enough. Located on the office building's ground floor, it had wide windows, creamy-white walls, and a soft, dark red carpet. The long, well-polished table was even made of real wood, a rare commodity on a space station. A few potted plants sat in the room's corners.

"Looks like the Colonel isn't here yet," Davi commented idly as the group filed into the room. He shrugged. "Let's have a seat, then."

Polymina settled into one of the table's swivel chairs near the door, restless with excitement. She kept glancing around the room, even though there wasn't much to see. Glin sat easily into another chair, while Frema'Zeeg sank casually into a third seat, drumming her gloved fingers idly on the shiny table. Davi sat next to Glin, and Zeldo next to his mentor.

"Did Colonel Dumont forward you any further details about all this?" Zeldo asked Davi. He watched a Hanar drift idly by in the street outside.

"Not much, no. It's probably all on a need-to-know basis," Davi figured. "Comms are less secure all the time, Zeldo. You can only trust your own ears."

"I'll second that," Glin added. "Machines can be hacked, but minds can't. Well... except for what they're calling 'indoctrination'." She shuddered.

"I don't find it likely that an Alliance officer would just fall to the Reapers like that," Davi said confidently. "When Colonel Dumont gets here, we'll make some serious progress."

Suddenly, Frema perked up like a small animal sensing a predator. "Hey! Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Zeldo blurted, but he got his answer soon. Several heavy, shuffling footsteps echoed from outside, and all at once, the wall exploded inward.

Zeldo's ears rang from the deafening explosion and he felt himself thrown against the wall in a rush of hot air. He wasn't the only one; everyone else crumpled to the floor, and Zeldo winced as he hit his head on the wall. He scrambled to his hands and knees, his mind racing. _What the...?_

Screams rang out from the street's pedestrians as a huge YMIR-class 'mech stomped into the room through the wall that it had created. Its right arm's missile launcher was still smoking, and its left arm was now rising, its long gun barrel aiming for the killing shot. The machine's glowing red eyes seemed to mock Zeldo and his organic frailty. It's synthetic voice was even and terrifying.

"Firing."

Zeldo scowled. _Not so fast, rust-bucket!_

Davi sprang to his feet, his side-arm drawn. He snapped off three quick shots that merely bounced off the 'mech's smooth white armor, but it served as a good distraction. The large 'mech turned and opened fire, but Davi had already dived for cover under the table. Shards of wood flew everywhere as the YMIR 'mech's bullets traced a line of fire along the table's surface.

"Hey Spectres!" Frema'Zeeg howled, her hands over her head. "Do something Spectre-like will you? Shit!"

Frema yelped as the YMIR's bullets sheared the table in half, and one half collapsed entirely, leaving both Frema and Polymina exposed. The YMIR took aim, and released another stream of bullets.

"MOVE!" Adrenaline racing through his body, Zeldo seized Frema and shoved her aside just in time; a few stray bullets tore through the air where Frema had crouched, punching holes into the opposite wall. Frema took this chance to grab Polymina and get her out of harm's way, but Zeldo wasn't as lucky. One shot grazed his armor, shattering the plating.

Zeldo felt himself shoved against the wall by the bullet's sheer momentum, and his ribs ached from the leftover energy. He stumbled, realizing with horror that he was vulnerable. He reached for his side-arm, but he knew that it was too late.

"Over here, asshole!" Glin had drawn her weapon too, and she and Davi both fired a few pistol shots against the imposing YMIR 'mech. Most shots missed, but one landed right on the 'mech's visual processor, half-blinding it. The machine took a step back, its arms waving wildly.

"Visual processor damaged. Activate emergency subroutines. Engage backup systems," the YMIR said aloud in its synthetic voice, and this clearly gave Zeldo his chance.

"Cover me!" the Salarian shouted. He didn't even wait for Davi or Glin to respond; he just leaped over the table's remains, sprinted across the room, and took a flying leap. He seized the YMIR's armored shoulder, then scrambled onto its back. He hung on right like a child riding someone piggy-back, and the YMIR's weight sensors could definitely feel him there.

"Excess weight. Eliminate," the YMIR grated, swaying side to side. Zeldo could hear its torso actuators whining with the effort. "Eliminate. Eliminate."

Zeldo was no tech expert, not like Frema'Zeeg and many other Quarians were. But even he knew that 'mechs had service panels built into them, and if he could rip out as many wires as he could, the YMIR 'mech would go down. Big opponents like this could only be taken out from the inside.

Both Davi and Glin kept up their fire, and between that and Zeldo's weight, the YMIR 'mech's logic circuits went haywire. It howled repetitions of "Eliminate" and swayed on the spot, firing shots at random. Plaster and chips of metal filled the air, clouding Zeldo's view of the batlefield. From here, he could only pray that Davi and Glin were okay. _Hang on, guys!_

Quickly, Zeldo scrabbled his fingers across the 'mech's shoulders and neck, searching for a service panel. _Come on, it's got to be here... come on!_ But he couldn't find it, and the 'mech gave a violent jerk that nearly threw Zeldo off. Frantic, he grabbed its missile arm, barely hanging on with one hand.

"Aaaaaaaargh!" Zeldo heard a man's scream from the smoke-filled battlefield, and he realized with dread that Davi had taken a hit. He indistinctly heard Glin shout something, but that didn't matter now. There was only one way to settle this.

With a heave, Zeldo pulled himself back onto the YMIR 'mech's back and searched its neck once again for a service panel. He bared his teeth and hung on tight, even though his arms burned with exhaustion.

"The panel is on the base of the neck, Zeldo! The base of the neck!" Frema'Zeeg shouted frantically from a corner.

At at last, his fingertips found the lock on a service panel, right at the base of the 'mech's neck like Frema had said.

Zeldo silently thanked her and drew his knife and stabbed it into the panel's lock, busting it. He wrenched open the panel and grabbed a handful of wires, then tore them out. Sparks flew from the severed wires.

"Warning. Motor functions compromised," the 'mech said aloud, suddenly faltering. It slowed, then went limp, its arms falling to its side, the gun muzzle silent. Zeldo distinctly heard the 'mech's motors shut down, and the machine finally went silent.

A C-Sec hovercar settled on the scene, and four armored troops rushed over with their assault rifles raised. "Get off of there. It might not be safe!" an Asari trooper hollered to Zeldo.

Gratefully, Zeldo slid down the YMIR 'mech and onto his feet, his head feeling light. "I'm okay. That 'mech should be down for a while." Then, he remembered. "Davi!"

While the C-Sec officers secured the YMIR 'mech, Zeldo hurried over to where he had heard Davi's voice, and found the Turian Spectre propped against the wall in a sitting position. Glin knelt by him, her hands pressed over a bloody wound on his chest. "It's bad, but not critical," the Turian woman said breathlessly as Zeldo joined her. "The others are okay. Just get some help sent over here!"

Zeldo took one glance at Davi's pained expression and nodded. "We've got wounded over here!" he shouted to the C-Sec officers, running back to them. "He needs treatment, fast!"

"Squad Bravo-7 to HQ. We've got wounded here at the wards," a Human C-Sec officer said into his headpiece.

"Turian male. He needs specialized treatment," Zeldo explained quickly. Being amino-dextrous, Turians and Quarians needed particular medical care, especially for a wound like Davi's.

"It's a Turian male. Make sure the right setup is ready," the officer added. He cut the channel and gave Zeldo the thumbs-up. "Help's on the way, Spectre." He glanced at the powered-down YMIR 'mech. "Good work on that thing. A YMIR 'mech..."

"Yeah. I did great," Zeldo said, but the words felt hollow. He wouldn't let himself feel proud until Davi was stable.

*o*o*o*o*

"You're one crazy bastard, you know that, Zeldo?"

Davi lay in a bed at the C-Sec medical ward, with Zeldo standing on one side and Glin on the other. His bed was one of only several occupied in here, but he looked to be in the worst condition. At least his wound was fully bandaged by now.

Zeldo shifted uncomfortably. Davi had addressed him by his first name, like he always wanted. It was strange now that it happened. "I did what I could. Gunshots only distracted the damn thing. You're the one who taught me to take an enemy down from the inside."

"Yeah, I suppose." Davi picked at the bandages on his chest, wincing. "Damn, that itches. Not the first time I've been in this kind of shape, but still..."

"You were lucky," Glin said, clearly shaken. "Davi, that 'mech could have killed us all. And I'm not just worried about that thing's guns, but the skills of whoever stole it and reprogrammed it here on the _Citadel._"

Zeldo felt a chill. "I can think of who."

Glin stared at Zeldo. "What? You have a lead?"

"A Cerberus operative back on Omega. I caught a glimpse of him as I escorted Frema'Zeeg back to safety," Zeldo explained. He tightened his fists. "First, he used mechno-spiders equipped with poison stingers. And now, a YMIR-class 'mech. I don't think our problems are over yet."

"Cerberus." Glin spat the word with hatred. "Bunch of terrorists! What are they playing at, hampering our war effort against the Reapers? We've got to alert C-Sec and get search squads out there. We..."

Davi held up a hand. "Slow down. We've got a mission to carry out. Let's focus on that."

Glin whirled to face Davi. "Are you kidding? With a Cerberus agent like that out there, hunting you and Agent Kariss down?"

"That's just it. He's after _us_, Glin," Davi said. He clenched a handful of blanket. "If we get going, far away from innocent lives on the Citadel, this Cerberus scumbag will follow us wherever we go. And we can try to fight him on our terms. Set traps. Something."

Glin opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again. "Just be careful out there, Davi. This isn't like any other op you've done. The stakes are much higher."

Davi chuckled dryly. "You're telling me? Okay, you both need rest, too. Visit me later. Bring flowers and a card, if the mood strikes you."

Zeldo managed a grin; if Davi's old humor was back already, that was a good sign. "Like I'd waste flowers on you, old man," he joked, then got serious again. "Whatever happens, Agent Cestello, I'll do my damnedest to make sure that Cerberus goon goes down. He's messing with the wrong Spectres."

"You know it, Agent."

As Zeldo walked out of the medical ward with Glin, Zeldo saw an e-mail indicator on his omni-tool. When he pressed it, a message from Frema appeared.

_"Hey, Zeldo."_ There was a momentary pause and a sigh. _"Thanks for the help back there. Looks like we couldn't get into deeper shit in a Krogan sewer, so I'll trust you to watch my back. Just make sure you keep up your end of the bargain, and I'll help you and that Davi guy however I can. Words are cheap. Actions aren't. See you around. -Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay."_

Zeldo grinned. "Oh, don't worry. I'll keep up my end," he muttered, typing the same words into a reply e-mail. "Now you see what it means to trust others. Feels good, doesn't it?"

Although Zeldo wasn't usually one to rub his philosophy in others' faces, he couldn't help it this time.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Frema'Zeeg glared awkwardly at the readout on her omni-tool. Zeldo's self-righteous, mocking words stared back at her. She clucked her tongue in disgust and moved onward. After the firefight with the YMIR mech, Frema had slipped away quietly as the Spectre's and C-Sec pondered over the wreckage and cleaned up the wounded.

Davi. Frema thought of Zeldo's teacher, powerless and wounded the last time she saw him. She felt something deep in the back of her mind, or was it the pit of her gut? It felt something oddly like regret. Why did she care, though? It wasn't her fault psychopaths from alien-hating terrorist groups were after them, was it?

Frema thought back to waking up next to Zeldo on Omega, in the middle of a firefight, with several dead assassin spiders crushed nearby. For whatever reason, her being chosen for this Reaper war by the Council had really stirred up her life. She hated it.

Frema growled angrily at the thought as the walked through the lower wards. Although the Presidium was immaculate and beautiful, the bulk of the station was much... different. It wasn't long before Frema found the "underbelly" of the Wards. Around her loomed dive bars, shady thugs, boarded-up stalls, and shadowy businessmen.

Frema'Zeeg looked around through the Ward neighborhood until she finally just stopped and leaned up against a wall to think, blocking the noise of chattering pedestrians.

_What the hell am I doing here?_ she thought. _It's like I can't stay away from shit like this. I need to get back to Zeldo and the others. I shouldn't be here._

As she turned to leave, Frema nearly knocked over someone who was hurrying past her. The person gave a startled _Oomph!_ before reorienting herself and looking at Frema'Zeeg. It was another Quarian.

"Hey! Oh keelah, am I glad to see you here," the Quarian said excitedly. "I got lost and ran in to some strange people over there." she pointed vaguely behind her. "No one here will help a Quarian. You know? Can you help me get back to the Presidium?"

"Can't help you." Frema gently brushed the Quarian girl aside with her hand and set off.

"Hey, why are you leaving? Are you just going to leave me here?" the girl asked, panicking slightly.

"That's the plan, yeah," Frema'Zeeg said casually. _Learn like I learned._

The Quarian's silvery faceplate gleamed and Frema could see her own violet one in the reflection. She held her own gaze for a few moments as she heard the Quarian begin to sob softly and turn to leave. Frema thought she would help, even thought about reaching a hand out and comforting the poor thing, but she just stood there, coldly ignoring her crying.

The silver-faced Quarian began to stalk away for what felt like an eternity. The moments between each gentle footfall were each an opportunity for Frema to redeem herself and say something. Finally, when the Quarian was out of sight, Frema sighed out the breath she didn't realize that she was holding. She turned and stalked off to wherever it is she thought she was going.

A few minutes later Frema pulled up a communicator channel to Zeldo. Soon his voice crackled over the speaker and said, "Yes, Frema? Is something wrong?"

_Too much is wrong right now._ Frema moodily closed the connection. She nearly shouted in frustration, drawing the stares of several pedestrians nearby.

_What is going on with me?_ she wondered. _Is this what it feels like to be conflicted? Damn you, Zeldo! Damn your kindness!_

With a whirl, Frema'Zeeg took off in the direction of the Quarian and hoped it wasn't too late to change things. Maybe she would just show her to the elevators on that level? Maybe she would even bring this Quarian to where she was going and make a new friend in the process?

Frema'Zeeg rounded a corner and marched in the direction the Quarian girl had pointed. Each twist and turn in the neighborhood led her deeper and deeper into rougher territory. She felt like eyes were on her at all times now, but she didn't care.

Finally, she caught sight of the Quarian. The girl was talking to a Turian man who leaned over her, as if he intended to bury her face in his chest. The Quarian stumbled back, but the Turian's arm shot out and seized her shoulder. She squeaked and they both exchanged a few words before Frema'Zeeg got back into earshot.

"- all I'm saying is that you could help me out if I help you out," the Turian leered.

Frema rolled her eyes as she approached.

"No, no that's okay. I can go and find my own way. I think I'll be going now..." The Quarian tried to wrench herself free.

The Turian reached for the Quarian again, but this time Frema'Zeeg came up and tugged her free, out of the Turian's reach. Frema glared at the towering alien through her faceplate, even though he couldn't see her snarl.

"She said no. Now piss off, loser," Frema snapped. She guided the younger Quarian through the back alleys, hands clasped on her shoulders.

"Thank you," the young Quarian breathed. "I thought he was going to hurt me."

"What, that moron?" Frema'Zeeg scoffed. "I know his type. They bully you around but they aren't dangerous. You just gotta get nasty with them like I did, and walk away."

Though Frema could only barely see her face, she looked like she was beaming at her.

"How do you know so much? Have you been on pilgrimage long?" the girl asked, awed by her wisdom.

"I've been around, yeah," Frema admitted. "Okay here is where you need to go."

Both Quarians had now reached the shuttle elevators. They stood in a secluded section inhabited by only a few people and a keeper or two. Frema stopped and looked around before heading to the panels and calling the next elevator.

"What's your name?" Frema asked casually.

"Kael'Florin," she replied happily, extending a hand. "And yours?"

Frema knew her name was rather infamous on the migrant fleet, and so she opted for a cover to keep the peace.

"Dala'Fring," she replied, shaking her hand.

There was a brief pause in Kael'Florin's poise before she looked past Frema'Zeeg and into the alleyway behind them.

A skiff had gently come to a landing and a trio of Turians came out and walked towards them. One of them was the thug from earlier. Frema looked back at the elevator and saw it was a ways off from reaching them, then back at the Turians, and then back to Kael'Florin who shook with fear as the Turians approached.

"Did I mention these punks are only dangerous in groups?" Frema told her coolly. "Let me handle this. Get on the elevator the moment it comes."

She strode out to meet them. The lead Turian snarled at her. He was a little taller than his compatriots, who were both a little taller than Frema'Zeeg. None of them openly carried weapons, but their cocky swaggers suggested hidden arms.

"You interfered," the lead Turian snarled at Frema'Zeeg. "It's rare when I get Quarian poon, and you spoiled it for me. Shame I have to rough you up now."

Frema just glared at them. She felt the weight of her pistol on her belt, hidden out of sight by her bags. She could also barely feel the hug of the strap that held her knife close to her thigh. She breathed in and out evenly before considering her words.

"Yeah, shame that." she drew out her words as if she were speaking to a child. "It's rough business when you have to go home before the party even starts."

The trio of Turians chuckled. The leader said to the one on his left, "Darrin, you think this one has got any fight in her?"

The one called Darrin chuckled back. "I don't think so Valkus, all suit-rats are alike. Mousy and frail. She's got a sharp tongue, though."

The leader laughed again. The Turian to his right just stared at them quietly. He crossed his arms and sighed at his compatriots. Frema'Zeeg zeroed in on the action. He was definitely the smart one.

Frema spread her feet apart and waved the universal "come at me" sign with her fingers at them. Each of the Turian's opted for a rough boxing pose and got ready for a brawl. Frema just grinned evilly.

Valkus made the first move. He sprang forth with a punch aimed at Frema's head. Although Frema didn't have Zeldo's or Davi's training, she managed to back away just in time. She felt adrenaline course through her, and her muscles felt ablaze. She huffed loudly in her helmet, eyes locked on the Turian.

With Valkus off-balance from his missed punch, Frema stepped forward and stomped on his foot with her own. When he tried to jerk back and roll a shoulder up at her, she leaned back with her foot still on the ground and cocked back a fist. She planted it on the side of the Turian's head with a solid thump.

Valkus spun around and clutched at his skull as the smart Turian rushed her with his elbows in. He shot out a quick series of jabs, and Frema bobbed and weaved to avoid them.

_Whack!_ The Turian's last punch caught Frema on the head. Her armored faceplate absorbed a lot of the shock, but her head still snapped back painfully. Surprisingly, though, the smart Turian backed off and let the other dumb one, Darrin, rush her with his arms outstretched.

Frema'Zeeg lamented that her hand to hand skills sucked. She wished Zeldo were here. He was an artist in hand-to-hand combat. What he lacked, though, was Frema's personality.

She sneered as the Turian approached and feigned cocking back another punch. Instead she reached down fast and drew her pistol. The surprised look on the Turian's face turned to one of pure anguish as she snapped off two quick rounds into his chest. The other two Turians backed off slightly. Darrin collapsed to the ground, blood pooling around him.

"Sorry about me," Frema chided them. "I fight dirty. Here... let me put the gun down. We'll settle this fairly."

She boldly tossed the gun to the ground. Valkus and his smarter friend exchanged a look, then looked back at Frema'Zeeg. Darrin was moaning on the ground. Suddenly, Valkus exploded in anger and rushed after Frema head on while his friend dove for the gun.

Frema rushed towards Valkus first, drawing her knife from her haunch and driving it deeply into Valkus' gut as he ran into her. He gasped and then tried to grab hold of Frema'Zeeg and reach for her neck. She slid the knife out quickly and landed a quick slash on his chest and stabbed again into his back as he collapsed beside her. The smarter Turian had retrieved the pistol, and, leveling it at Frema'Zeeg's face, took a moment to consider the situation.

Frema stared him down with her bloodied knife in her right hand. She felt like this was too easy. These guys were just punks. She had been beaten close to death by _real_ thugs in her day, and she came out no worse for wear. Her head still throbbed from the earlier blow, but she felt confident that she could end this soon.

The remaining Turian seemed to know it, too. He wordlessly set the pistol down and went to check on his friends. Darrin was still moaning from his gunshot wounds, and Valkus lay silently in a steadily larger pool of his own blood. Frema'Zeeg heard a ding noise, and turned to find an astonished and horrified Kael standing next to the open elevator.

Frema'Zeeg smiled and said, "Ah, right on time. Come on, come on, get in!"

She shooed Kael into the elevator and walked in behind her, leaving her sidearm on the ground. The elevator doors closed silently and Frema punched the button for the closest level to the Presidium.

A few wordless moments passed between them before Kael said to her. "I know who you are, Frema'Zeeg."

Frema glanced over at her, genuinely surprised. "Oh?"

"I'm from the Idenna, just like Dala'Fring. We grew up together. And no Quarian I know can hurt people like that other than Frema'Zeeg nar Tonbay. It's monstrous."

The bite of Kael's words hurt Frema'Zeeg just as much as they should have. Frema knew she was a monster, in some ways, but she didn't really feel bad about that until that moment between them. It was odd, like the feeling of regret had been there all along and Frema had just noticed it.

"My infamy runs before me," Frema'Zeeg said wistfully. "I know I don't really deserve a thank-you. I'm not even glad I intervened in your life, Kael'Florin."

A few seconds of silence passed between them before Kael spoke. "I'm glad you did," she said.

Frema'Zeeg just smiled to herself. Maybe being good wasn't so bad after all? Her brutality needed to be reined in, sure, but she felt like she was on the start of a long redemptive path.

"I'm going to use what I've learned to help stop the Reapers, if that means anything," Frema said at length.

Kael'Florin looked at her, her silver faceplate gleaming. "If you can do to the Reapers, what you did to those Turians, then you'll be a greater hero to the Quarians than Tali'Zorah."

Frema'Zeeg grinned wide. The door opened and Kael'Florin walked out of the elevator followed by Frema. They gave each other a parting glance before turning to leave in opposite directions.

"Keelah se'lai," Kael said to her.

"Keelah se'lai," Frema returned the sentiment before they turned and walked away from each other. _A hero like Tali'Zorah._


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"Agent Kariss? Your mentor wants to see you."

Zeldo lay on his bed in a borrowed room in C-Sec headquarters, but once a Human agent stuck his head in with this news, the Salarian bolted upright. He suddenly felt his heart race and he clenched a fist. "Why? What's wrong?"

The Human made a face. "He says 'get that green son a bitch over to Training Room Three pronto'."

"I don't want to be disturbed today. I made that clear to him and everyone else," Zeldo snapped. Ever since that battle with the YMIR 'mech, Zeldo had felt a cold pit in his stomach. He needed time alone, but apparently...

"I reminded him of that, but then he said 'get him over here before _you're_ the one in a hospital bed!'"

Zeldo rolled off the bed and reluctantly changed into a simple black training outfit, thin and flexible for maximum movement. He rolled his head, walked past the C-Sec agent, and made his way to Training Room Three, his mind buzzing.

Davi was already there, clad in a similar outfit. The grizzled Turian rolled his neck and threw a few practice punches, then gave Zeldo a hard glare as the Salarian came in. "Finally," he said shortly.

"Why are you even here? You need more time to recover," Zeldo said defensively. The door slid shut behind him."Glin told me."

Davi adopted the ready stance, lowering his center of gravity and raising his fists. "Spar with me."

Zeldo made an exasperated noise. "Agent Cestello, look..."

"Get ready, or I knock you down right now!"

"Fine!" Aggravated, Zeldo dropped into the same stance and entered the battle ring marked on the floor. He carefully watched for Davi's first move, but realized that this wouldn't be an ordinary fight. Nothing lately had been ordinary, in fact.

Davi approached Zeldo in a zig-zag pattern, wincing slightly as his chest would protest the movement. Still, the injury didn't slow the Turian down, and he quickly threw a left hook directly at Zeldo's temple.

Adrenaline blasted through Zeldo's muscles and he ducked the blow just in time, and he saw that Davi had left himself wide open from the failed attack. So, Zeldo slipped under Davi's outstretched arm and gave the Turian a tentative rap on the ribs. "Left yourself open," he huffed.

"Not for long!" Suddenly, Davi's knee came up and rammed into Zeldo's chest.

The Salarian's breath burst from his mouth and he felt himself lifted off his feet for a second. He saw Davi's follow-up punch coming, but couldn't block it. The punch sent Zeldo sprawling, and he stared up at the ceiling, stunned. _I forgot how fast he is!_

"Get up!" Davi barked. From here, Zeldo could hear him back up a few steps. "You're not done yet."

Zeldo sprang to his feet, rubbing his head. "What's with you?"

"Ask yourself that," Davi retorted. "I've known you for a while, Agent Kariss, and Glin's told me about you keeping yourself shut up in your room. You're not normally like this. Tell me why!"

"How can I?"

"In the heat of battle. Maybe I'll beat it out of you." With that, Davi bounded forth again, fists shooting through the air.

Zeldo bared his teeth. _I won't hold back this time!_ He bobbed and weaved past Davi's first few punches, then swung back and landed a hard hit on Davi's left shoulder, stunning him for a second. Careful to avoid Davi's bullet wound, Zeldo smashed his fist into the Turian's ribs, then swept a foot to knock Davi over.

Too slow. Davi leaped back from the kick and circled Zeldo, throwing a few test punches. Zeldo slipped past each one, waiting for Davi to over-extend himself again. But Davi was only baiting him, and Zeldo realized that he'd have to make the first move.

"Yaaaah!" Zeldo let loose a flurry of fists, recalling his Turian CQC training with a splash of Asari martial stances. Zeldo heard repeated thuds of flesh on flesh as Davi raised his arms to block each blow as they came, each warrior trying to push past each others' guards. Zeldo felt sweat soak into his outfit, and he saw Davi's face scrunched in concentration. Any second now...

Davi suddenly faltered, and Zeldo took his chance. He smashed Davi's arms aside and swung a fist up into Davi's chin. The Turian's head snapped back for just a moment, but to Zeldo's surprise, he looked back down and connected with a terrific kick to the chest.

Once again, Zeldo felt himself thrown onto his back in a daze. Davi circled around him, tapping a fist on his open palm. "You've been different since I got injured," the Turian said sternly. "I don't like it. This isn't _you_, Agent Kariss."

"Says who?"

Davi hit his open palm harder. "I can sense it in your fighting, too. You're shaken, insecure. You must think you're worthless now. After all, what kind of Spectre lets a fellow get injured like that? You were there. You could have prevented it!"

"SHUT UP!" Before he knew it, Zeldo was back on his feet, and fists were flying again. Davi barely had time to throw up his guard before Zeldo's knuckles hit home, and this time, Zeldo started to push Davi back. "What was I to do? We were ambushed and outgunned! Hell, you're lucky to be alive!"

"Yes!" Davi encouraged him. "And why is that?"

Zeldo snarled and knocked Davi's arms aside, creating an opening. A final, hard punch to the upper chest threw Davi back, and the Turian stumbled and fell. "Because I was there to help!" Zeldo blurted out. "I saved your ass!"

Davi made a gesture to end the spar and slowly got to his feet. "That's right. I trained you for better than self-pity. In our line of work, we take every good thing we get, 'cause there ain't many." He pointed at Zeldo, chest heaving. "But there's something else, isn't there?"

"Well..." Zeldo thought back to the past few days. His mind latched onto his conversation with Frema'Zeeg while inbound for the Citadel. He clearly remembered Frema's biting words: _"Don't you ever think for yourself? What have I worked hard to build that I need to protect, huh? What have you? ... It's all a scam. A racket."_

"Well what?"

Zeldo swallowed. "I told Frema'Zeeg what it means to step up and defend what we hold dear, whatever the cost. And she didn't believe me. Then, when I saw you injured by that YMIR 'mech, I wondered what one Salarian and Turian can possibly do against the Reapers? We're fragile, fleeting life. All I really had was some glowing idea in my head."

Davi laughed. "What, did Frema talk you into quitting?"

"No! It's just..." Zeldo hesitated. "Training under your wing gave me a noble world view. But what if it's all just a game to others, like the Reapers, or rogue Geth, or monsters we haven't even seen before? I feel like I've walked into this galaxy confused by an illusion of grandeur."

"So that's it. Frema doubted you, and now you feel like abandoning your mission."

"I didn't say that."

"But those are the only two options I'll give you, Agent Kariss." Davi took a few heavy steps toward Zeldo. "Either you cut and run, and forever disgrace yourself to me, the Spectres, and your whole race, or you remember why the hell you earned the right to call yourself a Spectre. Don't you dare suggest that all the training I gave you was for nothing."

Zeldo stared at Davi. The man was serious, and the next few words Zeldo spoke would affect his whole life. He took a breath. "I'm not done yet."

"And why is that?"

"Because... maybe the dream is only dead to those who don't believe it. Putting faith in the idea of creating a better galaxy... that's what makes it truth for some people. If you, me and Frema work toward it, it's not a racket or scam." Zeldo didn't know where the words came from, but they felt right. Maybe he realized them as he spoke them. He felt a sort of relief.

Davi grinned. "That's a little better. I took a few shots, but you're the one doing the whining. That's not right. I want you fully involved in our cause, because that's what's expected of you. From me, the Council, and most of all, yourself."

"I think you're right."

"I _know_ I'm right." Davi headed for the exit. "The doctors are gonna yell at me for all this, but it was worth it. Think about what we said, Zeldo. It's important."

"Yes, Agent..." Zeldo stopped. "My first name. You..."

"I know what I said, Zeldo. Get a move on."

"Right." Feeling that today was a good day after all, Zeldo jogged to catch up and left the room with Davi.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Frema'Zeeg looked around the Presidium lounge and found it mostly empty. This delighted her, as she needed some quiet time alone to settle all the thoughts buzzing in her mind. _A hero like Tali'Zorah..._

She ordered a drink from the pad on the table and took in her surroundings. The quiet, neatly-trimmed Presidium gardens surrounded the lounge on three sides. It was peaceful. Frema enjoyed the quiet most times. It made her think about things without distraction, and she appreciated that. She leaned back in her chair, and as she was waiting for her drink however, a figure approached quickly and sat down at her table before Frema'Zeeg could react.

"Look, I don't want to be rude but-" she leaned forward to look at who it was. It was Dr. Polymina staring back at her. Her trademark goofy smile was replaced with a solemn frown.

"Dr. T'jestrix?" Frema'Zeeg asked cautiously.

"Hello. Frema'Zeeg wasn't it?" she said with unusual caution. "I'm glad I found you. I just wanted to say thank you for saving me."

Frema'Zeeg flashed back to the YMIR attack and what exactly Polymina was talking about. When the bullets had sheared the table in half, Frema had grabbed the Asari linguist out of the way. Frema'Zeeg just exhaled.

"I would have been split apart at the waist, probably," Polymina added nervously. "So again, thank you for getting me out of the way. I was so scared I couldn't move."

Frema was taken aback slightly by the confession. She knew now what she did, but she really didn't think of the dramatic impact it would have on this mousy Asari professor.

"Would you like to stay for a drink?" Frema offered, clumsily.

"I'd love that," Polymina said, exasperated and relieved.

The drinks arrived, and both women fell into conversation with ease. Frema found herself relaxing, and realized that she had missed good companionship more than she realized. It really was pleasant for two people to get to know each other. It reminded her of meeting Zeldo Kariss.

"And that's why my biotics have always been lackluster," Polymina said at length, sipping at her drink, "It's not like I never practiced though, since then, but with that incident I never really felt like I needed to be powerful biotically since I wanted to keep my studies at the top of my priorities unlike my sisters who-"

Frema held up her hand and chuckled. "Easy there, doctor."

"Sorry, that's been a problem of mine. The motor-mouth tendencies I display, I mean," she took a breath and then another sip. "So tell me more about you. You left the Migrant Fleet and then what?"

"Well..." Frema hadn't told Polymina about her parents or the terms of her departure from the flotilla. Did she really want to open up about that? Well, why not? "I headed for the frontier. I thought I'd try my luck as an entrepreneur. I quickly fell in with pirates, though."

"Really? Why is that?" Polymina asked excitedly.

"I was a better salvage and techie than the lot of them, so I often came in handy better than a slave or a toy." Polymina coughed a little and blushed slightly. "So over time I earned some friends and a reputation in the Terminus Systems. That led me to getting more jobs, and the rest is history, I suppose."

"That can't be all," Polymina teased. "What happened when you were in the Terminus Systems?"

"I was a pirate," Frema admitted. "I went from station to station, help raids on civilian ships, outrun what law there was in the Terminus, and when it was all over I'd bring the haul back to civilization and sell it off for credits. Simple." Frema shrugged and took a drink.

"That's exciting. Much more exciting than my life, though I'm a little older than you," Polymina admitted.

"How much older?" Frema asked, genuinely curious.

"Two hundred and eighty," she giggled. "A youth compared to my people."

"Yeah, Asari and Krogan have always amazed me with their longevity," Frema mused.

It was so easy to talk to her. Frema'Zeeg felt like Polymina wouldn't judge her for anything. Even in the lounge when she moodily told them all she was a murderer, the only look that Polymina gave her was mild concern. It was refreshing to be perceived as not a threat even when she isn't tricking anyone.

"So, Frema'Zeeg..." Polymina leaned in slightly to say. "Your tech abilities are on par with other Quarians, right? And you are a confirmed killer too, so that's useful. But why did the Council pick you for this assignment do you think? Out of all the tech rogues in the galaxy?"

"None of them are as good as me," Frema chuckled. Polymina raised an eyebrow and kept her grin until Frema'Zeeg spoke again. "I don't know. I've wondered since I met Zeldo."

"Maybe it's because you seem to not necessarily to know more, but you are open to learning. Like you aren't held back by formal education and you are more flexible and adaptable because of it," Polymina offered.

"That could be," Frema mused. "I honestly don't know, though. Perhaps I'll ask the Council when this is all over."

When this is all over. If the Reapers succeeded then there would be nothing left when this is all over. The culling of all things would be complete and the last vestige of hope felt by all peoples would be extinguished, doomed to be repeated by the next set of races that inhabit the galaxy thousands of years from now.

"That would be an interesting talk I think," Polymina smiled, then took another drink.

A few moments of silence passed between them before Frema spoke up.

"This mission to the library we are heading for, are you scared?" she asked.

"Of course, I am terrified of the Reapers. Going to a place they supposedly created or could be inhabited by the enemy... It frightens me beyond recognition," Polymina admitted. "Are you scared, too?"

Frema just stared for a moment. "I don't really fear anything," she admitted evenly after a few seconds. She wondered why she said that.

"I mean," Frema went on, "I'll be afraid for my life in the moment because I want to keep living. But when I sit here and think about it, I guess I'm not really afraid of dying. If the galaxy dies with me, I suppose I won't care either way."

"That's really brave," Polymina said.

"Maybe not," Frema chuckled. "It could be really stupid. I haven't the faintest idea."

"If it is stupid, you make it look cool," Polymina admitted, then finished her drink with a flourish. "Could be. Hey, what does 'veldo' mean in the Salarian language?" she asked.

Polymina coughed and sputtered. She put the drink down and coughed a few more times. In between her coughs were unmistakable giggles. Finally she righted herself and regarded Frema'Zeeg, tears forming at the corners of her eyes and a dopey grin on her face. "Where did you hear that from?" she laughed again, "Did that Salarian Spectre tell it to you?"

"Yeah, he said some bullies called him that when he was a child," Frema laughed. "What does it mean?"

"It's... really gross," Polymina hesitated.

"Come on, spill."

Polymina swallowed. "In certain Salarian dialects, 'veldo' is common slang for 'animal fucker'. It's a strong obscenity among Salarians, as you might have guessed."

"That really is gross," Frema laughed. "So you are a linguist of many languages?" Polymina nodded. "So do you have a favorite word or phrase from a language not your own?"

"Oh goodness, that's a tough question. My time studying the Hanar language was exceptionally miserable. Hmm, you have no idea how difficult they can be to communicate with. They also have very secretive locks on their language like names that no one is allowed to learn. But during my time on the Hanar homeworld, I met the Drell," she said the last part wistfully.

"The Drell have a very complex but deeply beautiful language. I was fascinated and honored to learn it, along with it's incredibly beautiful religious context. There is a phrase, _amon kala-atha lethu._"

Frema'Zeeg repeated it. "What does it mean?"

"It's hard to translate, but, a close meaning is 'by the waters of Kalahira, I will see you again one day.'"

"That much meaning to so few words?"

"You have to understand that the Drell are a deeply interconnected people and few words can take place of emotion. They blend faces, body language, and context behind their words to form the phrases. Little is needed to be said when you can show your opposite how you are feeling." Polymina instructed.

"That sounds really interesting," Frema let on, trying hard to ignore her boredom. She liked the phrase though. It did sound really beautiful.

"So I have a favor to ask you," Polymina asked.

"Shoot," Frema told her.

"I know so little of the Quarian language. I know you probably don't want to recite off every word you know, but, if it's not too much trouble, could you help me figure out some of the blanks that I've acquired? The Migrant Fleet doesn't respond to my mail, and I feel like this friendship of ours gives me a unique opportunity." Polymina shifted in her seat excitedly.

"You want something from me," Frema replied coldly. "That's familiar."

Polymina nearly shrieked in embarrassment. "N-n-no! I didn't mean it like that! I just wanted, I mean, I thought it'd be nice if you could further my understanding. I mean I could use that information to give to all people. I uh, I'm not sure-"

"Doctor," Frema clutched her side with one hand laughing and held up the other hand to stop her, "Sure. I was just ruffling your feathers."

"You are so cruel!" Polymina gasped, half-smiling, half-agog.

"I know. We'll start you off with the Quarian word bosh'tet..."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

"Hey, Dad. It's me. It's that time of year again, and I've got a lot to tell you this time. What a year it's been, for me and everyone else, really."

In his C-Sec room, Zeldo sat at his desk, speaking into his omni-tool's video recorder. His father would never hear his son's message, being dead for four years. It was completely quiet in the room, except the faint hum of the air conditioning and distant footsteps.

Zeldo licked his lips and continued. "Get this: the end of the world's coming. Didn't expect that one, did you? Neither did I. Turns out the Protheans didn't fade into extinction all nice and quietly, they were wiped out. These 'Reaper' sons of bitches showed up near the Batarian homeworld and decided to take the galaxy from us, and by what I hear, it's not the first time. The whole galaxy's in chaos, but hey. I'm fighting the good fight, just like you told me to. Won't forget those words."

Zeldo thumped a fist over his heart, a deeply respectful Salarian salute with intimate undertones. "And guess what else? I'm finally getting my chance to make a real difference out there. Yeah, I know, I did good work before... but this is the real thing. Agent Cestello, that tough old bastard who you'd like, took me to the Terminus Systems for a little headhunting job. The council's rounding up all loose talent it can find out there for the war effort, and my slice of that job is this Quarian named Frema'Zeeg. I think you'd like her too. Slippery like a greased varren and with an attitude to match."

The screen distorted for just a second. Zeldo ignored it. "Anyway, I think I've really broken my training wheels this time. There's a good chance that this'll be the last video message I ever make. Somewhere out there you're listening... and I hope you're listening real hard, 'cause I've never meant it more: I love you, Dad, and I'm not going to let you down. Your little bal'zad is going to make your proud."

Zeldo sighed and reached for the "end message" button. Not many would believe it, but Zeldo adhered to the Salarian wheel of life religion, and thus, Zeldo knew that his father was alive out there in some unknown form. Zeldo doubted that his father would ever find the messages that he recorded for him, but it was a personal tradition that he wouldn't give up. In fact, Zeldo's father had nicknamed him "bal'zad" as a kid, Salarian for "believer", a testament for the boy's spirituality and will to see justice done.

But something was off.

"Huh?" Zeldo frowned and stopped his finger just over the omni-tool's button. He saw it again; a faint distortion on the screen. Normally, his tool worked perfectly and was well-protected from any kind of hacking or interference. Who could...

"Horatio!" Fuming, Zeldo sprang to his feet and punched the 'end message' button. He stalked out of the room and toward the Human hacker's room, not caring that he only had on a simple shirt, pants, and shoes. Spectre grandeur be damned, Zeldo wanted answers!

"Who...? Oh, hey!" Horatio Flang said with forced cheer as Zeldo threw open the door. The Human leaped up from his computer terminal's chair and offered a handshake. "Didn't expect to see you. What's new?"

Zeldo knocked aside Horatio's hand and pushed his way past him and into the room. He pointed to his omni-tool. "You hacked into this, didn't you? Why?"

Horatio hesitated, his false smile fading from his face. He pushed his glasses up on his face and folded his arms. "I was curious, okay? Come on, I'm a hacker. You know what my type's like. And you're a Salarian, aren't you? Bet you've hacked a few computers yourself."

"I'm nothing like you!" Zeldo snapped. "I know that you're guilty of hacking Citadel systems, and you're only here 'cause we're desperate for manpower. But if you sneak into my private affairs again, you'll be sorry."

Horatio scoffed. "Spectres make their own laws, but not even you could just rough me up. I'm an asset to the war effort."

Zeldo jabbed a finger at the Human. "I know three species' worth of martial arts. You really want a demonstration?"

"Fine, fine. Sorry." Horatio motioned with his hands, palms-out. "I'll delete any trace that I was ever there. Your messages to your dad are our secret to keep."

"Good, or I'll make a memorial video for _you_ next." Zeldo sighed. He felt his tensed muscles relax. "Forget I just said that. It's just a touchy subject. You can attest to that yourself."

"Yeah, uh... I guess I can." Horatio glanced at his terminal. "Look, why don't I show you how I'm putting my skills to good use? Come over here."

Curious, Zeldo stood over Horatio's shoulder as the Human seated himself in a swivel chair before the terminal. Six bright screens scrolled with data and Citadel security camera footage, and the assorted keyboards and wires on the desk seemed chaotic but elegant at the same time. Hackers.

"Believe it or not, the council wants me overseeing their cyber warfare suites," Horatio said excitedly. "Fill in the gaps, you know, and smooth out errors. Last time I was in this system, it was a crime. Now, it's a job!"

"Funny how the perspective changes things," Zeldo commented.

"I know, right? A skill is like a tool or weapon: not good or evil on its own. Only its user determines that."

Zeldo felt a chill. "My father used to say that."

Horatio typed something into the nearest keyboard. "Sounds like he was a smart guy."

"Both he and my mentor taught me that hope and meaning only exist where they're perceived to be. Objects in the universe simply _are_. It's up to us to interpret them, and act on that."

"Now you really sounds like a proper Salarian." Horatio leaned closer to a monitor, then jerked back. "Got something!"

Zeldo tightened his fists. "What?"

"Someone's trying to break into a C-Sec outpost's systems down near the 700 blocks, at Yalba Boulevard."

"That sounds like a Volus name."

"It is. Little guys love having C-Sec watch over them, but that won't last. We've got to get over there!"

"It's risky. We could walk right into a whole armed squad."

Horatio made an impatient noise. "We don't have time to figure it out! I can't stop them from here, you see. And if they get into those systems, their access could spread. Things could get bad, really fast."

"Let me get a little something. Meet me at the C-Sec garage in five minutes."

"Done."

*o*o*o*o*

"What do you mean, you can't drive?"

Zeldo stared at Horatio in disbelief in the garage, surrounded by blue and silver hover-cars. He had on a utility belt, complete with his pistol, two knives, and a frag grenade.

Horatio pursed his lips. "My driver's license got suspended. How would it look if I broke the law _now_?"

"But..." Zeldo flushed. "I can't drive, either! I suck at it!"

"I don't wanna go back to jail!"

"C-Sec will make an exception. I'm sure of it!" Zeldo felt time slipping away by the second.

"Maybe. But... I suck at driving too. Not the first time I got my license suspended."

Zeldo glared at the nearest hover-car, as though the vehicle was taunting him. He muttered a curse. "Fine! Just get in and I'll get us there. No guarantee how many pieces we'll be in."

Eagerly, Horatio scrambled into the passenger seat, and Zeldo reluctantly settled into the driver's seat and powered up the engine. Swallowing hard, he eased the throttle forward.

With an awkward lurch, the car narrowly avoided scraping another car and shot out of the garage's open door, right into heavy Wards traffic. Zeldo gripped the steering wheel tightly, his heart racing as he tried to swerve past nearby cars. Angry honks blared and Zeldo tried not to picture himself crashing into another car. The ground was awfully far below...

"Floor it!" Horatio demanded, but he looked afraid of the thought. "That hacker should nearly done by now!"

Wondering what Davi would make of this, Zeldo hit the acceleration and yelped as the sudden speed threw him back against his seat. The engine whined loudly as Zeldo streaked past silver-gray skyscrapers and bright neon signs, the air howling past his car. He checked each street sign as he went... 400 blocks, 500, 600...

"Whoa!" Horatio actually covered his hands with his face as another hover-car took a right turn and nearly plowed into Zeldo's. Muttering another curse, Zeldo dipped just in time and scraped past the other car's underside, then broke free. The other car honked loudly.

"Up yours! I have a hacker to catch!" Zeldo shouted out the window, just for the hell of it. Horatio actually laughed.

Finally, the 700 blocks sign came into view along Yalba Boulevard. Horatio checked his omni-tool.

"The hacker's in that abandoned building. Park us and I can track him or her down more accurately," Horatio said, pointing. "Try not to crash straight through."

Wordlessly, Zeldo sent his car on a shallow trajectory downwards, then landed roughly on the building's roof. Glad to have his feet on solid ground, Zeldo hopped out and joined Horatio at the access door. With a quick hack, Horatio entered the door's security code and both men slipped into the upper floor.

Only half the lights were on, and dust covered every surface. Zeldo tried not to sneeze as Horatio guided him past empty offices and meeting rooms, and they both quickly climbed down a few flights of stairs. Finally, Horatio pointed out the right door, and Zeldo kicked it open, pistol raised.

Two Turians in mismatched armor whirled around and trained their assault rifles on the intruders, while a third sat at a computer terminal, typing away. "Shit!" one Turian hollered. "Drop 'em!"

Zeldo was faster. The Salarian took careful aim and snapped off a shot that echoed loudly against the confined walls. The tiny bullet punched the assault rifle right out of one Turian's hand, and Zeldo leveled his pistol at the other. "Give up, pal. You seem poorly trained at best. And I've got reflexes like you wouldn't believe."

The other Turian edged toward his fallen weapon, but stopped when Zeldo unclipped the grenade from his belt. "Both of you stand down, or I roll this sucker right at your hacker friend. Be smart."

Snarling, both Turians backed off, and the armed one threw down his rifle. Satisfied, Zeldo kept his pistol up while Horatio stalked over to the hacker and shut down his computer.

"This isn't fair, you know," the Turian hacker snapped. "Who are you guys to stop us? We're only trying to help our race here."

"I'm a Spectre. I can show you my badge later," Zeldo said. "And how does this help your race? All I see are criminals in here."

"Supplies headed for Turian planets from the Citadel seem thin," the hacker growled, "while Humans and Asari are getting fat off the stuff that my fellows should be getting. I'm just trying to tweak a few numbers so my brethren out there don't starve."

"If that's a problem, make an official complaint," Zeldo said firmly. "This rogue justice stuff just gets you into more trouble."

"Who are you to talk?" one armored Turian demanded.

"Someone who knows what justice actually looks like," Zeldo retorted. "If Turians out there aren't getting enough, start your own fundraiser or charity drive. But crime won't help. This Reaper war is bad enough without us turning on each other."

The Turians glared at Zeldo, but didn't respond. They lowered their gazes.

"Good. Now my friend will call over reinforcements, and you guys can answer for what you were trying to do," Zeldo concluded, nodding at Horatio.

Horatio typed something into his omni-tool and joined Zeldo by his side. "Hey, we make a good team after all. Who'd have figured?"

"Not me," Zeldo said. "I threatened you less than an hour ago. Sorry about that."

"It's fine. So, friends?"

"Don't push it."

"You got it."


End file.
